Summoned
by esama
Summary: In which three Harry Potters exchange fashion tips and war stories, and make arms deals in legs and small mansions. AU, Dimension travel, some swearing, Dark/Light/Armed!Harry
1. Smudged lines

**Summoned**

**I chapter**

**Smudged lines**

"As you all know, our situation is dire," Albus Dumbledore said, looking over the group of people gathered in the dining hall of Grimmauld place. "Voldemort's," he ignored the winces at this and continued, "forces are moving, and we have already had many great losses by their hand. And there is no question about what he aims to do before long."

"There isn't?" Molly Weasley asked worriedly, clutching to her husbands hand.

"No, Molly, there is not," the headmaster of Hogwarts said severely. "It is no secret that the Ministry of Magic is all but over taken by his people, with Death Eaters in almost all offices and in several key positions. It won't take long before he will undermine the ministry completely. How the coup will go is impossible to tell, but it is inevitable."

"Yeah, with Fudge living in Lucius Malfoy's pockets, the dark tosser probably doesn't even have to do much," Sirius Black muttered, glancing at his best friend.

"And he's still cutting the Magical Law Enforcement budget and making us lay people down," James Potter added darkly. "When it'll happen, there won't be enough Aurors in the Ministry to do anything about it."

"Don't be such a pessimist, Potter," Alastor Mad-Eye Moody growled. "Constant vigilance and steady wand hand, and any even half trained Auror is worth three Death Eaters."

"Problem is, they tend to have four to one advantage - and that's without counting werewolves, dementors, vampires, hags, giants, people under Imperius, Inferi…"

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore nodded. "However these eventualities, as dark and grim as they mean, are only part of our most grave problem. And the main problem is of course Lord Voldemort himself," he stopped to let people recover from the word, musing that maybe he should've cut back the dramatic tone. "Many have stood up against him, and the only success even few of them have had is getting away alive. There is no doubt about his powers - these days even I…" he trailed away.

"But surely you could! You're the most powerful wizard of the age! You-Know-Who fears you!" one of the Order members assured.

"Perhaps once," the old wizard mused, smiling. "But Voldemort hoards powers I would not touch," he said, shaking his head. He didn't say that he was getting bloody old and the rheumatism was really starting to be a bitch these days. Not to mention about the memory problems. If the Order couldn't figure out the need for a Pensieve themselves, then there was no point in him telling.

"In any case, I am sad to say that I doubt that anyone here could rise to the challenge - not because of the lack of enthusiasm, I'm sure," he said, when several of the members started to rise to argue - James Potter and Sirius Black being the quickest to get to their feet. "But also because of fate," Dumbledore said, admonishingly. "Because of the… Prophecy."

There was a short break before Arthur Weasley cleared his throat. "What prophecy?" he asked politely.

"_The_ Prophecy_,_" the headmaster said, frowning slightly when people only looped up to him with some measure of confusion. "The Prophecy from nineteen-eighty. I'm sure I've told it to you. The one about the boy… and the dark lord…" he trailed away expectantly, until Lily Potter let out a gasp.

"The Prophecy!" she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "The one that was about… about…" she trailed away with a sniffle.

"Aw, come on, why did you have to go and bring that up?" James asked with annoyance while wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulder as she dissolved into sobbing. "It's not like it didn't take more than five years of mind healing and psychiatry for Lily to get over Harry's death!"

"Oh, that prophecy," Frank Longbottom murmured, and put his hand on his wife's shoulder as Alice let out a sigh at the memory. They at least had had a little easier time with it - they had Kate barely half year after Neville had been killed, but Lily had had hard time giving birth and hadn't been able to have more children for good seven years after Harry's death.

"That was totally uncalled for, Dumbledore," Sirius Black agreed, frowning at the old man.

"Yes, indeed, Albus," Minerva McGonagall nodded while patting Lily's shoulder compassionately. "That was utterly tactless of you. You should be ashamed."

"Yeah, think about how poor Lily and Alice must feel like," Molly Weasley said, before glancing at her husband and whispering under her breath. "You know what prophecy they're talking about?"

"Haven't got a clue, but I'm sure I don't care for it," the man said with a frown.

"Yeah, why don't you tell about this prophecy, since it's so important that it's okay to make poor Mrs. Potter cry," Nymphadora Say-My-Name-And-Die Tonks said, scowling angrily.

"Yes, well," Dumbledore coughed, as the rest of the Order glared at him like he had turned into the schoolyard bully all of sudden. "The Prophecy, which was spoken in the summer of nineteen-eighty, told us of a boy would be born in the end of July who would have the power to defeat the dark lord. Two children were predicted to be born at the time, one being Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter," he said, motioning at the Longbottoms and then at the Potters.

"Oh," Tonks muttered.

"What's the point in this?" Frank Longbottom asked with annoyance. "The boys both were killed - and Voldemort had been making sure every kid born even near the end of July never lives long. Even hundred prophecies don't mean squat when there's no living boy fitting them."

"Well… I have long suspected that only the chosen one of the Prophecy could ever hope to defeat Voldemort. People have fought him and failed time and time again," the headmaster said, sighing. "So I have tried to look for this chosen one by using… alternative means."

"You mean, by using different calendars?" McGonagall asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes and no. Mostly I have tried to locate the chosen one by magic, by scrying through the distances of time and space," Dumbledore said, frowning. "And I think I have finally discovered a way."

There was another small silence before Moody frowned. "What way? Way to where?" he asked impatiently. "Stop with the cryptic bollocks and tell us what you're really on about."

The headmaster frowned, but spoke. "In my scrying, I have discovered that in several of our sister dimensions, worlds much like and yet unlike our own, there are people who fit the Prophecy, who have even competed it and defeated Voldemort in their own worlds," he said. "Most often than not, the chosen one in these dimensions tends to be Harry Potter," he added, glancing at the Potters and wincing a little when Lily lifted her gaze sharply.

"Okay. How does knowing that in other worlds these Harry Potters are chosen ones help us in this dimension? If you haven't notice, our chosen ones tend to die a lot," Sirius snarled, glancing at Lily and wincing also. "You shouldn't be saying crap like this, giving people false hope."

"Yeah," James agreed, narrowing his eyes. "If you're not going start getting to the point anytime soon, I and my wife might as well head home."

"I have discovered the means of summoning people through dimensions," Dumbledore said quickly before the Order could start scolding him again. "We could summon one of these Harry Potters to us."

The Order fell into another, though now a little more shocked silence, before McGonagall asked, "Is this what the war has came to? You truly do not think of any other way to win?"

"Oh, I can think of a few ways to win," Dumbledore said grimly, while trying to ignore how Lily Potter stared at him like she was about to pull out her wand and demand he did the ritual right there and then. "Sadly, they all tend to end up either with the situation much worse afterwards, or without any of us among the survivors. I believe that having one man talented enough for the task might be the only way to end this war with as little casualties as possible."

"And if this chosen one from alternate reality decides to not help us? Or if he isn't up to it?" Frank asked suspiciously.

"Yeah. Our Voldemort might be stronger than the one from his reality," Moody agreed. "What we do if the chosen one is a weakling that'll get killed in his first try? I suppose we summon just a new one?"

"No, we just need to make sure we get one that is powerful enough," Dumbledore assured. "The runic ritual I designed still had room for additional requirements. We shall make sure that the chosen one we get is an incomparable warlock, that he has the strength to defeat the dark lord," he nodded.

"And thus risk summoning a dark lord worse than the one we have. Good going, Albus," Moody said sarcastically.

"Then we shall also make sure that he is strong in light, as well," the headmaster amended quickly.

"A strong battle mage, skilled enough to defeat a dark lord and strong in light, huh? What if there isn't one like that in these alternate realities of yours?" Sirius asked.

"I'm sure the spell will find a perfect candidate for us, Sirius. Everything will go just as planned."

Famous last words.

x

The runic circle had been drawn into the entrance hall of the Grimmauld Place, the biggest room in the house without wall-to-wall carpeting. Once the portraits had been silenced and the room readied, the Order watched eagerly and worriedly as the headmaster stood by the runic circle, chanting.

"What do you think?" James Potter asked, whispering to Sirius who stood next to him. "Ten galleons say he botches it up."

"Botches it how?" Sirius asked, glancing at him with a frown. If he hadn't known better, he would've said that his best mate was completely unconcerned about the fact that the old man was trying to summon his dead son from another world. But even if the fact that James tended to resort to gambling when he was nervous hadn't tipped it off, the fact that James was shifting his footing and running his hand through his hair would've.

"Just botches it up," the Auror said, shaking his head. "You taking the bet or not?"

"Don't take me for a fool, Prongs, I'm not stupid enough to take a bet like that. He's practically bound to botch it up," Sirius snorted. "Let's see… I think he'll summon some sort of monster by accident."

"I think he'll summon the wrong sort of chosen one," James said. It sounded more like he was _worried_ about the eventuality than he was _betting_ on it, but Sirius took it anyway, and shook his mate's hand.

"What are you two doing?" Lily asked, glancing at them with a frown. "You should be quiet; can't you see that the headmaster is working?"

"We were just congratulating each other about how lucky we are to be here seeing this," Sirius answered with a perfectly innocent grin. "It's not every day you get to see a school professor trying experimental dimensional magic in the front hall of your ancestral home, magic which could potentially go horribly wrong and obliterate us and everything near by. Or worse."

"Nicely put, Padfoot," James congratulated him.

"Yes, I thought so," the other man nodded.

"Be serious, you two," she admonished them, but was interrupted from further scolding by burst of light and smoke, that exploded out from the runic circle and for a moment blinded everyone in the room. It was enough to make some of the Order members step back and most of them cough and cover their eyes. Once the light faded away and the smoke dissolved enough, they saw that the summoning was done.

And that not gone according to plans.

"So, who wins this one?" Sirius wanted to ask, but couldn't quite get the words out of his mouth and only managed to punch James's shoulder to make sure that the other was seeing what he was seeing. James didn't seem to notice, too busy staring with his mouth open at the three figures standing in the summoning circle. Though they all wore different outfits, they all had identical green eyes, strong angular faces and messy black hair - leaving no doubt of their identities.

"Well, this is new," said one of the three Harry Potters, looking at the two others while casually leaning onto his long wooden staff, not paying much attention to the people gaping at them as they stood in the middle of the runic circle. The two duplicates seemed to be much interesting for him, the left one with his impressive arsenal of pointed weapons and the right one with a little white devil hanging from his shoulder.

"Not for me," the Harry with the little devil said, giving the first Harry Potter and his staff a look of consideration. "Nice robe," he said after a moment with a faint smirk, looking up and down the length of the impeccably white robes that were lined with silvery symbols. "Are those made from unicorn hair? Must've cost you bloody a fortune."

"Not quite - I know a unicorn kind enough to donate some to the cause. And you're not looking too bad yourself, if I may say so," the white robed Harry agreed, assessing the long dark robes with a nod of appreciation. "Dragon hide?"

"Basilisk skin. Much better protection against light spells," the other shrugged, and reached hand to scratch the little devil's chin as he turned to look at the third Harry Potter, who had slowly pulled out a scimitar. "He, I think, has dragon hide armour underneath that coat."

"And basilisk hide trousers, if you must know," the very well armed Harry said, aiming the scimitar at the man with the little devil. "You know how much devil's liver is worth in certain establishments?" he asked, grinning.

"About as much as your still beating heart on a silver plate?" the dark clad Harry asked in return, shaking his head. "Besides, you don't want this one's liver in the first place," he added, patting the little devil that was now hissing and spitting at the warrior. "I think it's gone a bit bad over the years with all the drinking."

"You let a devil drink?" the white robed Harry asked with look of worry. "I suppose there is a good reason behind it?"

"Oh, absolutely," the dark clad Harry answered with unconvincing innocence and looked away from his two duplicates and to the people surrounding them. "I think the worse of the shock has worn off," he noted, nodding at the people surrounding them. "One or two of them even are realising that their little ritual went wrong."

"Hm. Though it might be that they did try to go after this sort of end result and only held meagre hopes of succeeding," the white clad Harry said, glancing at their feet and to the runic circles. "I'll take that back," he said after a moment with a disapproving shake of his head. "They did have different goal in mind."

"Like what?" the scimitar wielding Harry asked, frowning down. "Aw fucking great. A rune ritual. Who the fuck is stupid enough to try a rune ritual? They _never_ go right."

"Now, now," the white clad Harry said, absently hitting him in the knee with his staff. "Little bit of studying and determination and runes aren't that difficult to use. Though I do have to wonder who wrote this one. It's a mess - one more rune in the north end next to the Hallowed Moon and they would've summoned something much worse."

"Hmm... if you say so. Runes have never been my thing. I'm more of the chanting type of wizard," the Harry with the little devil said, stroking his chin as he looked down. "What do you suppose they did try to summon?"

"Excuse me," the headmaster said, finally gathering his wits. He smiled rather awkwardly as the three Harry Potters turned their attention to him, all raising identical eyebrow in question - though the amounts of scorn, disbelief and mockery were different with each individual. "I would like to offer my deepest apologies for the inconvenience. My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am afraid you are quite right. Out summoning ritual did seem to go very wrong."

"Nice deduction," the Harry with the weapons snorted and glanced at the others. "You know this creep?"

"You don't?" the Harry with the devil asked, smirking amusedly. "He was the esteemed headmaster of most esteemed school of witchcraft and wizardry, also known as Hogwarts. Was. Until he had an unfortunate accident. Well, series of accidents," he had a reminiscent smile on his lips as he said this.

"Hm. Not where I come from," the one with the weapons said, and pointed the scimitar at a scarred man standing not far behind Dumbledore. "Moody's the headmaster where I come from."

"Why in Merlin's balls would I consent to something like that?" the scarred man, who had been eying them suspiciously with a wand at hand, asked with disbelief.

"Rumour has it that Minister Bones has some severe blackmail material on you," the Harry with weapons answered, shrugging his shoulders. He snorted softly "I think free reign with curriculum helped too, judging by how much fun you had torturing us in Battle and Duelling."

"Oh. Free reign with Hogwarts curriculum? How did that turn out?" Moody asked, now more curious.

"Well, I hear before you came along there was a different point system, three useless classes and the school had no gym, battle stadium, obstacle courses, the mock battle field, the only competitive sport Hogwarts had was Quidditch…" the Harry with the weapons said, ticking points until he ran out of fingers - of which he seemed to only have nine in total. "Oh, and food was free for everyone."

"Hmm… I like the additions," Moody nodded with satisfaction. "I've always said Hogwarts could do with a battle stadium and obstacle course. Or at least a bloody gym."

"What do you mean, food was free? You mean it isn't in your world? And what does different point system mean?" a stern looking woman demanded to know.

"You do well in class, you get to eat. You fail, you starve," the Harry with shoulders shrugged. "And point system was replaced with the weapon hunt. The house with most weapons by the end of the year won the cup - and the one student with most weapons individually got a new one." He looked a little smug. "I won an excellent throwing knife on my fourth year."

"Dear Merlin," the woman murmured, looking little green while Moody nodded and grinned with perfect agreement.

"Back to the subject at hand," Dumbledore said hurriedly before Moody could ask anything about the school he supposedly ran. "Like I said, I am very sorry," he said remorsefully, turning to the three Harry Potters and trying not to taker the contemplative expression on the dark clad one's face. "We only meant to summon one."

"Yes," the white clad one nodded in agreement, peering down to their feet and the runes again. "Apparently you wanted one who was strong, knew how to fight, was talented enough to battle dark magicians and strong in light magic," he chuckled softly. "I am afraid your problem lies in the requirements. You wrote them down wrong."

"Fighter, talented enough to battle dark wizards and still strong in light magic?" the Harry with the devil asked with a snort. "You wanted a champion," he said, cooing mockingly at the people surrounding them like talking to children. "How cute."

"Yes, well," Dumbledore started, frowning.

"Why did you want one, if you don't mind me asking?" the Harry in light robes asked, leaning to his staff again. "There are of course so many purposes one needs a champion for, and only so many reasons why someone would want a Harry Potter specifically, but I would like to hear the complete explanation."

"Yes, please, do enlighten us," the dark clad Harry said, smirking while the Harry with the weapons tapped the blade of his sword absently against the length of his boot.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, looking fairly uncomfortable. "Well… perhaps it would be for the best if we would move out of the hall and perhaps to the dining room," he sad after a moment. "I'm sure this discussion would be much more pleasant to have once we're all comfortably seated -"

He trailed away as the dark Harry snapped his fingers, creating three comfortable armchairs for himself and his two duplicates. "Why thank you," the Harry with white robes smiled, sitting down along with him while the Harry with the weapons did quick work with the chair's arm rests with his scimitar and only sat down once he was comfortable with the chair.

"You could've just asked me to change it," the dark Harry said, giving him a look, glancing down to the shattered remains of the arm rests.

"I like my way better," the warrior Harry answered while resting the sword comfortably on his knees, ready to use it if necessary.

Dumbledore looked down to the three of them with an awkward look about him, before sighing and creating a plush chair for himself as well. Some of the other people did the same, though Moody and several others remained standing. "Very well then," Dumbledore said, clasping his hands together. "I obviously do not know much of the worlds you come from, but our world is in crisis," he started.

"Oh, how dramatic. I do like the smell of crisis in the morning. Or evening, whichever it is," the dark Harry smirked, petting the devil that had curled up in his lap like a cat. He haughtily ignored how the light Harry whacked him to the ankle with his staff.

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore murmured. "In any case, we have a Prophecy here that details a champion able to defeat our Dark Lord. A boy born at the end of the seventh month."

"A prophecy?" the dark Harry asked, snorting. "Let me guess, it has _the one with the power_ or what not in it?"

"I wonder how many people have been born at the end of July," the warrior Harry asked with a flat tone.

"On thirty first? Roughly about three-hundred-thousand, that being all around the world, of course," the light Harry answered. "Three hundred of them wizards. This is naturally without counting beasts and half-beings, only humans." The others gave him a look and he shrugged. "Healer," he said as way of explanation. "Birth statistics are interesting for me."

"Statistics," the dark Harry muttered with disgust. "And they call me evil."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "In any case," he said rather sternly, before trying a softer, friendlier tone of voice. "In any case, no magical child with such a birth day survived past their second birthday. Neville Longbottom was killed when he was barely one -" he ignored a sob coming from a wispy grey haired Alice Longbottom, "And Harry Potter suffered his demise only two months past his first birthday," he ignored the other sob, coming from Lily, and continued, "And ever since any magical child born at the end of July…"

He trailed away, looking at the three Harrys who showed frankly rather meagre amount of surprise at the sound of their names or the story. As they kept merely staring at him, expecting him to get to the point sometime soon, the headmaster coughed awkwardly and continued. "Now that the Dark Lord Voldemort is moving with more determination, we are in dire need of the chosen one of the Prophecy."

"Well bollocks, I guess you're out of luck then," the dark Harry said flatly, and glanced at the others. "I completed my Prophecy already, about three years back. What about you?"

"Second time in my fourth-year," the warrior Harry said with a sad sigh. "Never got the chance to have a bloodbath like that since. The one on my fifth-year was frankly rather disappointing and the one that came around my seventh-year really isn't even worth mentioning."

"You didn't go after the pieces?" the dark Harry asked, seeming fascinated.

"Why bother?" the warrior Harry shrugged his shoulder. "It was much more entertaining to wait for him to recover and then butcher him again. Or it would've been if the later regenerations hadn't been so bloody pathetic. After the sixth time, I guess he got enough and stopped coming." He seemed almost sad about the fact. "How about you?" he asked, turning to the light Harry.

"In my first-year," the healer said with a serene smile.

"In your _first year_?" the dark Harry asked with disbelief and got a smug smile in answer. "How the hell did you manage to collect all six or however many pieces there was in your first year?"

"I didn't, of course. I didn't need to. All I needed was the right spell aimed at one of the pieces and that was more or less it," the light Harry said with some measure of fake modesty while rubbing his scar absently. "The spell and the connection between the pieces did the rest of the work for me."

"I bet it was some light spell, you bloody unicorn sucker," the dark Harry muttered with dismay. "Over achiever," he added, and looked away. "Dainty wanker."

"Now, now, jealousy is such an ugly emotion," the light Harry chuckled.

Dumbledore, who had been staring at them with shock, stood up. "But this is wonderful!" he said. "You all have the experience, so surely you can defeat our dark lord -"

"No thanks," the dark Harry said, leaning back more comfortably and crossing one leg over another in complete idleness. "I had enough of that mess the first time around. I don't think I could look at the pathetic pillock again without throwing up."

"Yes, I think I shall pass as well," the light Harry agreed, smoothing his hand gently over the hem of his robes. "I'm afraid my vows do not permit me from causing any physical, spiritual, mental or magical harm on a living or dead being."

"I could do it," the warrior said. "But I don't think I'd bother to go through with the trouble for free. It was fun with my Voldemort, since hell, he was _my_ Voldemort, but I don't know the tosser over here," he mused, shrugging his shoulders.

"There's an idea," the dark Harry said thoughtfully. "There is always space in my personal vault, I must say. And I could do with some extra funding. I was thinking of reconstructing the eastern wing of my castle," he mused, scratching the devil behind its ears absently. "There is a nasty draft there and I can never show the place to my guests," he sighed with fake sadness.

"Payment?" Molly Weasley asked horror. "But don't you care about the innocent being harmed? Being killed?"

"Nope," the warrior Harry said.

"Can't say I do," the dark Harry nodded in agreement.

"I do," the light Harry said almost apologetically. "But I have my vows. I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, payment?" Dumbledore asked uneasily. "What did you have in mind?"

"Money and priceless jewels," the two Harry Potter's answered in unison while the light one sighed and shook his head.

The headmaster of Hogwarts looked a little bit worried at the concept, but he smiled regardless. "If you would excuse us for a moment," he said, motioning some of his people to leave the room. "I believe I and the Order of Phoenix will have to discuss this matter more thoroughly amongst ourselves."

"Take your time," the dark Harry said waving after them and looking around as he and his two duplicates were left alone with Moody, a red haired woman that looked somewhat familiar, and dark haired man who looked very familiar.

"Oh, Harry darling," the red haired woman said, looking from one Harry to the next with tears in her green eyes, so much like theirs. "My little baby."

"Your _what_?" the dark Harry asked, horrified.

"You don't know?" The light Harry asked, and looked at the couple. "I believe these are Lily Evans and James Potter. Our parents. Who, judging by what the headmaster had to say, had their first born son killed by their dark lord several years ago," he said, looking at the couple with faint curiosity.

"How can you not know?" the warrior Harry asked, looking at the dark Harry. "I could barely turn around without being compared to them. I look _so_ much like my father, apparently, but I have my mother's eyes," he scoffed, saying the words like they were a violent curse. "I started charging people after my second year for saying it. Made almost hundred galleons before the word started to spread."

"Hm, you like your money, don't you?" the dark Harry mused. "And I suppose I don't know because I lived fairly sheltered life," he then said.

The warrior Harry snorted while the light Harry gave the dark Harry a look of surprised amusement. "Sheltered life? You? Do tell."

"Well, I did grow up in the bottom of Voldemort's deepest dungeon, raised by a house-elf that was charged with feeding me and cleaning my cell," the dark Harry said, shrugging his shoulder. "The bastard only pulled me out of there when I turned eleven to slap an Imperius on me and sent me to Hogwarts so that I could kill Dumbledore. Never realised I could throw the Imperius off, of course, but that's irrelevant. In any case, I'd count that as growing up sheltered. I was so sheltered I didn't even know what sun light was or what rain felt like," he mused, reminiscently.

"Oh my god, Harry, darling," Lily said, sounding horrified, but though she stepped forward to try and hug him, she was forced back by an angry snarl coming from the devil in the dark Harry's lap. "My poor dear!"

The three Harry Potter's ignored her, two of them in favour of staring at the dark one, and him because he was too busy trying to keep the devil from attacking the woman who apparently was his mother. "Growing up in a dungeon, huh," the warrior Harry hummed. "How did that turn out?"

"Pretty good, I say. I did defeat him, take over his Empire and now rule whole of magical Britain," the dark Harry said smugly.

"Good for you."

"Well, don't let the title fool you. It's not what it cracked out to be," the dark Harry sighed, shaking his head. "It's not even the paper work - I have trained monkeys in suits for that, after all. It's the politics and the diplomacy," he scoffed. "All the bloody meetings and allegiances and plans and connections and projects and joint operations. Well, some of its fun, sure, but still. It's so much work, running an empire."

"Poor thing," the light Harry said, giving him a thoughtful look.

"What about you?" the dark Harry asked, looking him up and down. "A healer, huh? How did that happen?"

"I grew up in a very good orphanage," the light Harry answered with a gentle smile, leaning forward and tugging on the hem of his robes. "Meant of disabled children and such - mostly because of this," he said, showing the length of his legs that aside from his shoes were bare. They were made of silver metal through and through, with gears and cogwheels showing where the long metal plates didn't cover them.

"Both legs. Ouch. You're lucky though, in my world you would be walking on peg-legs," the dark Harry said while the light Harry lifted his right leg, rotating his angle. "How did it happen?"

"I don't remember much of it, but I imagine a chainsaw was involved. My uncle and aunt went to prison for a very long time for it," the light Harry answered with a smile, running his hand over his metallic knee. He ignored Lily's and James' shocked, horrified gasping and just shrugged his shoulders. "In any case, I was raised by doctors and nurses, hence the interest in healing, I suppose. When I went to Hogwarts it was on wheelchair, swearing I'd use magic to walk again."

"Ah," the dark Harry nodded.

"You know, you could do pretty severe damage with something like that," the warrior Harry mused, looking at the legs with open admiration. "Imagine making them hollow. You could hide ton of weapons inside. Or maybe adding a hidden blade to the knees, maybe to the feet…"

"Yes, I have had specialised commissions like that. Several Aurors went happily back to service after I gave them new prosthetics with some… additional components, I believe," the healer answered and then frowned. "I think some of them might've actually caused themselves a crippling injury just to get my prosthetics to replace their lost limbs."

"Hmm…" the warrior Harry hummed. "I wonder…"

"My vows will stop me from openly advising you about doing yourself any permanent physical harm, but if you plan on it, do inform me before hand," the light Harry said calmly while letting his white robe fall down to cover his legs. "Making prosthetics is easier if I have mould of the original and it takes time, so it's probably better for you that I start some time before you put yourself out of commission."

"I'll keep that in mind," the warrior Harry said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Now, Harry, you cannot possibly be thinking -" James started, but was over spoken by Moody.

"How long does it make these propstheys of yours?" he asked, glancing down to his long lost leg. "I hate to admit it, but I haven't been the same since I lost my leg. One of the type you have could come in handy, so to speak."

"It's spelled prosthetics and couple weeks for a simple working leg, a month if you want extra components," the healer said. "And I will have to demand to be paid before hand so that I can get the materials necessary - I do not think I have any money with me, currently," he added.

"You think you're going to be here for a month?" the dark Harry asked. "Wait, don't say that you think these people have no way to sent us back?"

"Don't be silly. Of course they don't, they don't even know where they got us from," the light Harry chuckled. "But I can send us back any time I want to, so no worries there. And I mean _any time_ in literal sense," he added, smiling. "The thing with using runic magic for dimensional travel is that time is merely another plane of existence."

"Oh, that's good to know. Could come in handy," the dark Harry said, nodding. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Uhhuh," the light Harry said, and shook his head, turning to the warrior Harry. "So, what's your story?" he asked. "You know, aside from your school being run by Moody?"

"Well, I wasn't raised in a dark cellar, or in an orphanage. I was actually raised by my uncle and aunt," the warrior answered with distain. "If you could call that _being raised_. But then Hogwarts letter comes, changes everything." He laughed, leaning back in his mutilated chair and grinning. "Best day of my life when Hagrid took me to the Ollivander's Wands and Weapons and bought me my first set of knives."

"_Knives_?" Lily asked with horror. "But-but didn't… you were eleven, weren't you?"

"I thought I was old enough for a sword too, but we couldn't have swords before second year," the warrior Harry said with a sigh. "Something about first years not knowing enough not to stab themselves or something like that."

"What about wands?" James demanded to know, while Moody grinned from ear to ear.

"Sure, some still use them, but no warlock worth his blade would ever rely on that solely," the warrior answered, petting his scimitar with a smile. "And since Ollivander started making magical blades that can be used for spell casting, no one's been stupid enough to really bother with wands. Do you know how easily they snap?"

"Hm. I wouldn't mind a magical blade myself," the dark Harry murmured. "I wonder if I could somehow visit your world. Seems like interesting place."

"I wouldn't if I were you. Dark wizards tend to be a sport where I come from," the warrior answered, shaking his head. "And you're kind of obvious," he added, looking the obvious dark wizard up and down.

"Ah," the dark Harry murmured, smoothing his hand over the devil's back absently. "Maybe not then."

"I could give you one of mine - for a price," the warrior Harry said, grinning rather ferally.

"They're all magical?" the dark Harry asked, glancing over the other's impressive arsenal of blades - and that was just what he could see. Who knew how many the other had hidden.

"Well, with blades there's this thing that they're not as good as wands," the warrior admitted a bit reluctantly. "You can do spells, sure, but they tend to be specialised. My scimitar for one is good for fire and explosions and such. This one on other hand," he pulled a dagger with impressive flower patterns in the hilt, "This is very good to have around the house. You know, cleaning, washing, occasional cooking if I'm not too picky about the taste."

"You have one for healing?" the light Harry asked curiously.

"No, never been too good with that stuff. I got a throwing knife that's handy with bandaging charms, though," the warrior snorted. "Ollivander's earlier blade works," he explained. "These days he knows better than make the blade you probably lose in a battle be the one you will most likely need after it. But anyway, I think he makes some scalpels these days for healers and such, but I don't think they're that popular. Healers still tend to use wands."

"Hm," the healer answered, nodding thoughtfully.

"Aah, I think I understand now," the dark Harry nodded. "That's why you have so many. I don't get one thing, though. These things must cost a fortune. So, how does the Hogwarts point system work with them? I mean, wouldn't the rich kids win it all the time, that is to say, Slytherin?"

"Well, in the end it doesn't really matter how many blades you brought into the school - you were very much unlikely to bring them all out," the warrior Harry snorted. "There's one legendary girl who brought a small pen knife with her - that wasn't even magical - on her first year. She graduated, without needing to buy a single new weapon, with no less than hundred and seventeen magical blades," the warrior said, grinning. "Take a moment to guess how she got the rest."

"Oh, oh hoh hoh," Moody laughed with deep satisfaction. "I like your school."

"What?" Lily asked with confusion. "What does that mean?"

"The students fight among themselves for the blades, you stupid bint," the dark Harry answered, rolling his eyes. And ignoring how James tried to berate him for talking to his mother like that. He shook his head and turned to the warrior instead, looking curious. "Did the fights have any rules?"

"Well, you got kicked out of school if you killed someone and it's considered polite to escort the loser to the hospital wing if they got badly injured, but aside from that not really," the warrior Harry answered. "Though in some clubs people did fight with rules, having old fashioned duels, but on the corridors ambushes were more common."

"Ambushes? What kind of horrible school did you come from?" Lily asked in shrill voice.

"From one that taught me to survive," the warrior waved the question aside. "And there's nothing like a little ambush to build character and backbone."

"I can only imagine," the dark Harry muttered, but with a thoughtful look. "Hmm… perhaps I should build a sister school for Hogwarts in my world. I could use minions better at fighting and the current generation isn't really giving me any high hopes…"

"Minions?" Lily shrieked.

"Dark lord," the dark Harry answered, pointing at himself. "Leader of a dark empire, the conqueror of magical Britain - killer on the dance floor… that sort of thing."

"_No son of mine is a dark lord_!"

"Glad we got that sorted out," the dark wizard nodded, and turned to the light Harry, completely ignoring her steaming. "You know, I think of all of us you're the most boring," he said rather conversationally. "I lead a dark nation, he is some sort of blade loving super warrior," he said, motioning at the warrior Harry. "You're just a healer with weird legs. I'm disappointed."

"Oh. I am so sorry. What should I do to change your very important opinion of me?" the healer asked amusedly.

"You did do other things than defeated Voldemort on your first year and developed weird prosthetics, right?" the dark wizard wanted to know. "Because if you defeated Voldemort in your first-year and then spent the rest of your life making fake legs, well, that's just sad."

The light wizard chuckled. "I am sorry. My life has been mostly of potion and spell discoveries since then, I'm afraid. And I suppose you wouldn't be interested in those."

"Hm. I don't know. Did you make any interesting discoveries?"

"Define interesting," the healer said, shaking his head and then looking up as Dumbledore came back into the room with the rest of the Order. "I suppose our gracious hosts have come to their consensus," he said, glancing at his duplicates.

"Harry," the headmaster said, looking a bit unsure about whom to look at and then settling on the dark wizard in the middle as he was the one who had seemed most forward of the three. "I am afraid that we will not be able to grant you much, but I hope that we can come to some sort of compromise."

"Oh, a compromise?" the dark wizard asked, and glanced at the grimacing warrior. "Yeah, I hate them too," he said compassionately, and looked up again. "And what sort of compromise do you have for us?"

"Well… we think that maybe some artefacts of value would be suitable payment," Dumbledore said, glancing at a dark haired man at his side. "Sirius?"

"We have lot of money worthy crap around here," the man said, looking at the dark Harry with dismay. "Dark items that you might like," he added, grimacing.

"Hm…" the dark Harry said, looking very unimpressed. "No, I don't think so," he then said. "I have a _collection_ of dark objects back home, not to mention a very well working laboratory full of inventors pushing out new items for me to toy with every day. I rather doubt you have anything I'd much care for." He glanced at the warrior at his side. "What about you?"

"I don't care for items. If they're money worthy, then sell them and then give me the money. Don't expect me to do your work for you," the warrior said with disgust.

"Oh, good heavens, you are so greedy," the light Harry sighed, and turned to Sirius. "What dark objects do you have, exactly?"

"Um. A cursed music box, a crystal pyramid that hypnotises people, mirror that shows you dead, spoon that will lodge itself in middle of your throat and choke you, locket that won't open, knife that cuts the user, ring that cuts your finger off, bracelet that will eat through your arm, necklace that will wrap around your neck and choke you…" Sirius trailed away. "My mother liked choking people. Let's see what else there was…"

"Your family was bloody scary, Padfoot," James potter muttered, shuddering slightly.

"I know," the scion of the Black family said, sighing.

"I'd like that knife," the warrior Harry said thoughtfully. "It could be handy sometimes."

"Anything else?" the dark Harry asked, now looking a bit more curious.

"Well, I haven't gone through all of the stuff, but let's see," Sirius frowned, thinking about it. "There's that hand mirror that melts your face if you look at it. Oh, and I think my father had a never ending box of cigars that slowly poisoned the smoker - he used to feed them to his guests. Oh, and then there was that box," he said, snapping his fingers. "Merlin, my mother loved that box. Put anything in it, and the people who saw it wanted it, no matter what it was. She made a small fortune with that thing."

"I could use that," the dark Harry with a grin.

"So, you would do this… favour for us for the knife and for the box?" Dumbledore asked hopefully.

"Tch," the warrior said, frowning. "One knife, barely magical? I can _make_ a knife like that," he said.

"Yeah, I have to agree. I could have my people make me hundred of those boxes, even if the idea is a new one I doubt it would take them longer than few months."

"Well, there are still other things," Sirius said hurriedly when Dumbledore gave him a look. "There are still loads of things we haven't looked over in this place. We haven't even gotten into my father's old study with the curses on the door. Not to mention about secret niches and such all over the rest of the house."

"Hm. Now there's an idea," the dark Harry said, while the warrior let out a thoughtful hum. They shared a look, and then a grin. "It would do quite nicely, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, boy," the healer Harry said as he realised what they were thinking.

"What would?" Dumbledore asked eagerly. "Do have a price in mind?"

"What do you think?" the dark Harry asked the warrior Harry.

"Hm. I suppose it could do," the warrior agreed, nodding his head. "It would fetch a nice price too, with little bit of work."

"Yes, I think so too," the dark Harry agreed, while the healer ran his hand over his face, sighing again. The dark wizard smiled up to Dumbledore. "We'll take it as whole."

"All of the dark items?" Dumbledore asked, sounding both dismayed and relieved. "I'm sure that would do very nicely indeed. However, there is still great deal to be discovered in this old house and of course the door of the study might cause some problems, but I'm sure over the time we can work something -"

"No, no, no, you got it wrong," the dark Harry said condescendingly. "I mean, we'll take it as _whole_." When the wizards around the three Harry Potters didn't seem to understand, he sighed heavily. "The house, you imbeciles. We'll take the house."

"You want _Grimmauld place_?" Sirius asked with disbelief.

"Yes, it will do nicely."

Sirius blinked, and then snorted. "You can have it," he said. "I sure as hell never wanted it."

"Sirius, please," Dumbledore cut in quickly. "We need the house to work as the headquarters for the Order."

"Then they can have it after we're done," Sirius shrugged.

"No, I'm afraid we want it now," the dark wizard answered, smiling down to the little devil as it yawned in his lap and stretched, rather like a cat. "I'm _sure_ such a _powerful_ Order of… of Vulture or whatever it was can _easily_ find another place to gather," he added with a mocking tone and a smirk. "And now that I think about it, I am quite sure that I will not settle for any other payment. No, it will be the house or no deal."

"Well, there are other places," McGonagall said thoughtfully.

"And for Voldemort demise, Grimmauld place is a cheap price to pay," Sirius added, and glanced at the dark wizard and the warrior. "I don't get why you would want the place."

"We want a club house," the warrior said with a grin.

"Yes, for Harry Potters United," the dark wizard nodded, while the people around them started to make quick relocation plans, few of them already heading off to gather their things while Dumbledore changed a whispered conversation with some other wizards about their new headquarters. Shaking his head, the dark Harry glanced at the healer who had been watching the proceedings with a blank look about his face. "You're invited," he offered. "Even if you're a blasted unicorn sucker."

"Why, thank you," the light Harry said with a flat tone before sighing and standing up. "How generous of you."

"I am known to show generosity every now and again," the dark Harry said, nodding. He rubbed his hands together as he looked around in the hall. "This is going to be fun, I just know it," he muttered, exchanging a grin with the warrior Harry.

"You know, about that leg," Moody started, stepping closer to the light Harry who was stretching his arms. "You mentioned paying beforehand. How much, exactly…?"

"Five hundred Galleons for normal leg, seven hundred if you want a hardened alloy, thousand for extra features," the healer said, and raised his hand when the man opened his mouth. "The prices are set, and there will be no haggling about the matter."

"Fine. Thousand it is," Moody scowled. "It better be bloody worth it."

The light wizard smiled, leaning to his staff again. "I promise, you won't be disappointed. So, what sort of features you had in mind?"

In the side, the dark Harry and the warrior Harry shared a look and shook their heads. "We need to teach him to do business, it seems," the dark wizard murmured and shook his head sadly while lifting his pet devil to his shoulder. "Oh, how light magic rots the brain. People really should know better than bother with it."

"Mm-hmm," the warrior agreed. "Where did you get that thing, anyway?" he asked, nodding at the white creature. "I've only ever caught one and that's because one stupid dark wizard tried to summon a demon to fight me. Botched up the ritual and summoned a devil instead," he added, snorting. "As I see it, devils usually don't make exactly good pets."

"That's the alcohol. Keeps him nice and docile. The cool thing about devils is that they tend to stay drunk for days at a time." The dark wizard grinned widely, scratching the underside of the devil's chin. His grin turned a little smug. "I didn't say how I defeated my Voldemort, did I?"

xx

I have no explanation for this, but damn I enjoyed every moment of it xD. Hopefully, there is still more to come. My apologies for possible grammar errors.

edit: added a scene with the order to the beginning, as it started kind of out of nowhere before.


	2. Laying low

I added a scene to the beginning of the first chapter with the Order coming up with their plan, as the first chapter kind of started out of nowhere and was very Harry centred. Overall it doesn't change the story, though, so you don't miss much if you don't read it.

**II chapter**

**Laying low**

It was strangely liberating to be kicked out of his old home, Sirius mused as he and the rest of the Order had packed their things and gotten a very cheerful boot to the buttocks from the Harry that preferred to wear black. There was one thing that was bothering him though. "How does this being kicked out of our headquarters by the people whom we summoned to save us work in the long run?" he asked, turning to Dumbledore as they made themselves comfortable in one of their lesser head quarters, the Shrieking Shack. "I mean, we did summon them to do things for us, didn't we?"

"So asks the man who handed over his house with a cheerful smile and hearty shake," James snorted, turning to Dumbledore who was absently fixing the floor and creating furniture while McGonagall went around transfiguring the windows and the walls, and the rest did similar chores. "Padfoot has a good point, though. Sure, two of the… wizards did seem to agree to defeat Voldemort for us, but… we didn't debrief them, and they know nothing of our Voldemort except for what they can probably guess."

"Oh, you don't think they would try and attack Voldemort on their own, do you?" Lily asked, frowning. "Or try to call him out or anything stupid like that?"

"I don't think the healer would - he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. The other two?" James grimaced faintly.

"I doubt they will do anything do drastic. I suspect the bravado with which they greeted us was just that, bravado. They will no doubt be more serious and think things through once they are alone," Dumbledore said confidently. "I suspect they wanted the Grimmauld place so that they can quickly make themselves a secure house - to make it their home in this world they do not know, a place to fall back to in case something happens."

"That's not the impression I got," Moody cackled from the side where he was casually throwing up new wards and spells to protect the house.

"Whatever it seemed like, they are all still very young, no doubt under twenty years of age," Dumbledore said. "Security will do them good. It is best to let them have the night to themselves, to figure out where they stand. In the morning I will visit the Grimmauld Place and debrief them in further detail about what has happened in our world, and what they should expect."

Moody gave the old man a look and snorted, before heading away to put up more wards. James and Sirius glanced after him before looking at each other. "You think it's safe to wait until morning?" James finally asked, turning to Dumbledore.

"Of course," the old man said, shaking his head with a smile. "What could possibly happen in the mean while?"

x

"I take it that this isn't the first time you've been to this place?" the light Harry mused while watching the dark Harry eagerly work on the curses of Orion Black's office while the warrior Harry waited anxiously on the side.

"Whatever makes you say that?" The dark wizard asked without looking up and instead waving his wand over the door one more time. The devil in his shoulder let out a nonchalant hiss, like backing him up.

"Well, I don't know. The fact that you made a beeline for this place once the mansion was emptied?" the light wizard asked, absently conjuring a chair and sitting down, as it seemed like this would take a while. "Two floors, staircases and four different corridors and you didn't even glance at any other room. Makes me think there might be something special in this one that you know, and they don't."

"Well, it might be something like that," the dark wizard answered, shaking his head. "Or it might be that it's merely a professional aptitude that made me sense the multitude of dark spells and find this place first thing because it is obviously the concentration of most dark magic in the house and now my professional pride as a dark wizard and lord cannot let me rest in peace before I break these curses."

"I could almost believe the latter part, but not the former," the light Harry said, shaking his head. "Because you of all people should know that it's the locket in sitting room that is the concentration of most dark magic in here."

"Yes, well. It's still matter of professional pride," the dark wizard said, throwing him a glance over his shoulder and pass the devil hanging from his robes. "Though I have to wonder how you know about the locket, mister I defeated Voldemort with one spell without ever needing to find the Horcruxes."

"Just because I am a light wizard doesn't mean I don't know how to sense and assess dark magic. It's actually part of the job description of a healer to be able to tell different types of magic apart," the healer shook his head, leaning back comfortably. "Makes easier to heal people who have gotten themselves busted up," he added, before glancing at the warrior duplicate. "What's in the office?" he asked.

"If I tell you, do I have to share with you?" the warrior asked suspiciously.

"It's your house. I'm just here for the club," the light wizard answered, rolling his eyes.

"Well, then," the dark wizard said, visibly brightening. "There is a small safe hidden in the office - filled to the brim with gold," he explained, glancing at the light wizard and grinning. "Sirius's mother might've been a bitch, but his father was more of the suspicious paranoid wanker mentality, and he went through Grindelwald's war, you know - not to mention that his father lived through a Goblin Rebellion. You have no idea how many people became hoarders after the rebellions. Something about having goblins block their access to their vaults made people very attached to their gold."

"So, most of the old pureblood families tend to have safes, or on better cases vaults, holding measure of their cash. Just in case they can't access Gringotts one day," the warrior agreed, nodding. "Sirius was kicked out of the family without knowing this so I guess that's why he doesn't know about the safe."

"So…" the light wizard murmured, looking between the other two Harry Potters. "You asked for the house because you knew about the gold. I guess that makes sense. How much is there, exactly?"

"I don't know. I never counted," the dark Harry murmured, frowning. "I just had it added to my personal vault."

"I did. Ten thousand four hundred and fifty eight galleons," the warrior Harry said. "That is after converting the sickles and knuts too. But that was how much it was in my world, the sum might be different here."

"Ten thousand, eh? Nice," the dark wizard murmured and hurriedly turned back to his spell work, now a little bit more eager to get it done.

"Nice sum of money," the light Harry mused thoughtfully. "If I had known I might've spent more attention to Grimmauld place when I inherited it. I could've used that money at the time."

"Why didn't you?" the warrior asked.

"Light wizard. What use a dark family's mansion would serve me?" the healer shook his head. "Besides I was busy with my research at the time and didn't have the time to go and explore abandoned houses. I just had the Aurors and curse breakers sweep through it, clean it up and then I sold it. Didn't get much of a profit out of it, probably thanks to the state of the place." He frowned, looking a bit annoyed. "They did tell me they had broken the curses blocking one room, but I didn't hear a word about any safe."

"You got robbed," the warrior Harry grinned. "They found the safe, split up the gold and figured you didn't really need to know."

"Most likely yes. I wasn't all that popular back then," the light Harry sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore."

"How can ten thousand four hundred and fifty eight galleons _not matter_?" the dark wizard asked over his shoulder. "You ought to challenge those arseholes."

"Duelling is against my vows. And in any case, I get enough money from my institution, inventions and whatever work I choose to do on the side not to bother with treasure hunt," the light wizard answered. "Just the profits from the Magemail keep me nice and comfortable."

"Magemail?" the warrior Harry asked curiously.

"The name of the prosthetics. Friend of mine named it after a cartoon she watched in muggle world," the light Harry shrugged. "It was nice and easy enough to remember so I ran with it."

"About that, you really should've asked Moody more money," the dark Harry said, frowning. "Thousand galleons… you could've easily wrangled much more out of the suspicious bastard."

"Yeah, don't let the old codger fool you. He makes mint every year by visiting muggle casinos," the warrior Harry snorted.

"And how much should've I asked? It is a suitable enough price for me," the light Harry answered calmly.

"And how much do the materials cost, exactly? How much work do you need to do to finish the product?" the warrior asked.

"Not much," the light Harry answered. "The material only costs me about fifty galleons after I've exchanged some money into muggle pounds to get it, and I can get the work done in a week." The two turned to look at him with surprise and he shrugged. "I've been making these prosthetics for years now, so making the parts doesn't take that much time anymore. And after how Dumbledore and the magical world treated me after I defeated Voldemort, I wasn't exactly inclined for charity."

"What does that mean?" the warrior asked, more curious than anything.

"Ah, well. Dumbledore in my world wouldn't believe that I had defeated Voldemort. After learning of my… disability, he had been trying to turn the public attention and recognition away from me, by telling that I was not the real Boy Who Lived," the healer said, smiling. "A legless boy was of no use for him. My house did not help, for that matter. So, he turned his attention towards Neville instead, starting to suit him for the task."

"Harsh," the dark Harry said, glancing back at him. "What do you mean by Boy Who Lived, though?"

"Ah, yes. I guess since he was alive enough to raise you in a dungeon, Voldemort wasn't defeated in your world in Halloween of eighty one," the light Harry said, thoughtfully.

"Boy Who Lived Was the title they gave to us after Voldemort tried to kill us on that day," the warrior said, waving dismissively with his hand. "The killing curse bounced, he died, and people hallowed us for surviving after our parents died. You have no idea how many times someone stuck a knife into me to see if being the Boy Who Lived made me immortal."

The dark wizard looked at him and then snorted. "Merlin, your life sounds so exciting," he muttered. "I'm going to have you tell me bedtime stories, I swear." Shaking his head, he turned back to the work, asking, "So, what happened with the whole thing of Dumbledore trying to make Neville this momentarily immortal brat?"

"For Neville? He didn't exactly flourish under the attention and was pulled out of Hogwarts at the end of the year," the healer said, shaking his head. "I on other hand was ridiculed thorough my stay in Hogwarts, both by students of the other houses and my own, not to mention about the teachers. They did little to help me with the bullying, some because couldn't care less, and the ones that did because Dumbledore had told them not to. In any case, they weren't… happy to see me succeed." He smiled softly, like recalling a fond memory. "So I made sure I excelled in every subject."

"Damn," the warrior murmured, pulling out a knife and absently throwing it in the air, catching it by handle, then by the blade, then by the handle again. "What about after you created Magemail?"

"I honestly do not know. At that point I quite frankly did not give a damn," the healer said calmly. "Beyond making sure I got my due, of course."

"Well, I'll be damned. Maybe you're not a complete pansy after all. You even might have some brains," the dark Harry said thoughtfully, and turned to look ahead. "And speaking of brains, I'm about done with this. Step back," he said, waving the warrior Harry to back away. Once he had, the dark wizard more or less kicked the door down, much to the delight of his devil who let out a shrill whoop of joy.

"Congratulations. A dusty room," the light Harry said, clapping his hands together. "I'm so proud of you."

"Oh shut up, you dainty wanker," the dark Harry said absently while stepping into the room, the warrior Harry following closely behind.

"Back to dainty wanker, I see," the light Harry mused and then after at his two counterparts. "Anything interesting in there?"

"One deranged house elf," the warrior answered, amused.

"You shall not defile old master's room, you dirty mudbloods, Kreacher will not allow it," a voice came from the dusty room. "How mistress would weep of she would see, but she will not, now she won't, because Kreacher will not allow dirty mudbloods get into the room, no he won't!"

"Aw, shut up and get out of my way. I have no time to cater insane house elves around - I'm too busy finding my booty," the dark Harry said, and moment later the old house elf landed at the light Harry's feet.

"_Our_ booty," the warrior Harry reminded, and together the two of them went to search the office, flipping over desks and brining the bookshelves down with enthusiasm while poor shocked Kreacher watched them in horror.

"If it's any consolation, we're actually half-bloods, not muggleborns," the light Harry offered in consolation, glancing down at the house elf. Kreacher didn't seem much comforted by this. "Yeah, I didn't think it would be," the light wizard murmured and stood up with a sigh. "Well, whatever. I'm going to go and find myself a work space, if that's alright with you two lunatics?" he called into the office. "Anyone have any objections to that?"

"We found the safe! Ha!" the dark Harry called in triumph. "I'm going to be rich again!"

"I'll take that as a no," the light Harry said with satisfaction, and absently whacked Kreacher lightly with his staff. "Come along," he said when the elf looked up to him with indignation. "You can help me clean." With the elf gingerly following, he headed off in search of a suitable room.

In the office, the two other Harry potters had finished dragging the safe out of the wall it had been hidden in. "How was it protected in your world?" the dark Harry asked his duplicate as he absently brushed some wall debris off the metal safe. "There were some nasty curses on this thing when I opened it. Had to spend a day in a bed after wards - and they had to re-grow the muscles of my right hand, which I'd rather avoid this time," he added, glancing down to his hands.

"Hm. There might've been similar protections on it in my world," the warrior said. "But I never tried to break them so I wouldn't know."

"How did you get it open then?"

"With the cunning use of gravity and sturdy pavement," the warrior grinned. "Tell me, how are your notice-me-not charms?"

"Well, they do what they're supposed to, I guess," the dark wizard answered, giving him an odd look. What did notice-me-not charms have to do with gravity and sturdy pavement? And what any of it had to do with breaking open a magically sealed safe? "Why?"

"I'll show you," the warrior answered, taking out a dagger and aiming at the safe. It lifted about a foot into the air, and as he turned to head out of the room, the safe followed him like an obedient puppy. "Come on, you tosser," he called at the confused dark wizard who just looked after him. "I can't very well show you if you're staying here."

Few minutes and few muggle repelling charms later, the dark Harry watched with something akin to true admiration, as the warrior used his dagger to levitate the safe several dozens of feet, and then let it plummet down and to the pavement. It was beautiful in its simplicity. The curses in the safe, which had been designed to attack anyone who tried to open the safe unauthorised, could do very little to defend the safe against the cold and unforgiving ground.

The safe didn't completely crack, though, only bent a little at the corner, so the warrior lifted it high up again, and let it fall again. "The good thing about old magical safes," he said with a grin. "Very few wizards are smart enough to charm them against physical harm because they expect people to use magic. And even when they figured how to do that in my world, magical safes are still no where near to indestructible. Few nice drops and it'll crack open like an egg."

"I see," the dark Harry nodded in understanding, feeling a bit embarrassed. He had done few dozen robberies in his time, but he had always gone about it the old fashioned way - breaking the curses, wards and other protections by meticulous spell work. This way seemed much easier, though noisier. "Can I try?" he asked, fingering his wand eagerly while the devil on his shoulder let out a cheerful cry as the safe plummeted down once more.

"Be my guest," the warrior said graciously, and sheathed his dagger. "Be sure to get some altitude on the thing before you drop it."

The safe lifted high upon the houses surrounding the street… and plummeted down. The noise echoed through the street like a gun blast, making few Muggles peer out of their windows with confusion, unable to see the two men abusing the safe right under their noses. "Whee," the dark wizard said gleefully as the devil shrilled happily, and quickly levitating the safe again. "This is fun."

About half an hour and some cleaning charms later, the light Harry had claimed one of the larger guest rooms as his new work station by shucking the bed and the wardrobe out and levitating several tables and cabinets in. Kreacher complained and whined the whole time, but he stopped making as much noise after the seventh friendly staff whack and opted to instead glare at him while scrubbing the table's carefully emptied drawers clean.

"It's not perfect, but it'll do until I have enough money for something better," the light Harry hummed to himself with some satisfaction and glanced up as his two duplicates barged in. "How was treasure hunt," he asked, noticing that the warrior version was happily flipping a golden galleon and both of them had heavy looking sacs in their hands. Even the little white devil was now the happy owner of one galleon, which it was clutching happily to it's chest.

"It was brilliant, of course. What's this?" the dark Harry asked, motioning at the pile of random items, magical objects, devices and whole lot of useless trash that had been dumped to the hall.

"This will be my work room," the light Harry answered. "You can do whatever you want with the rubbish, I certainly have no need for them. Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We were going to visit Diagon Alley, check the weapons shop, buy some whiskey, that sort of thing," the warrior said while nudging the pile with his hand and then picking up a small letter opened. After examining it, he hid it into his sleeve. "Interested in coming along?"

The healer snorted with amusement. "You're actually asking me?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Well, I didn't want to. I mean, you're a light wizard and a healer and all that goody goody stuff, that's not cool at all," the dark Harry said, frowning and the little devil scoffed in apparent agreement. "But he," he motioned at the warrior Harry. "Thinks it would be handy to have a healer with us. In case we run into some entertainment."

"Ah, I see," the healer said, raising a single eyebrow at him and turned to the warrior. "What's with him?" he asked, nodding at the darker version of himself.

"I think the money and destruction went to his head," the roughest of the three of them shook his head amusedly. "I'm sure he'll sober up eventually," he added, waving the matter aside.

"Uhhuh," the healer murmured, chuckling. "And how much are you willing to pay me for this excursion, hm?" he asked and smiled when they gave him a look. "You don't think I'll be willing to follow you two lunatics around and play your personal healer if you get injured just out of the goodness of my heart, do you?"

"Isn't that supposed to be your thing, doing things out of the goodness of your heart?" the dark wizard asked, frowning. "I mean, that's the light wizard thing, isn't it?"

"I don't think I've ever actually known a perfectly selfless light wizard," the healer said thoughtfully. "Besides, I'm a trained healer. I do believe I deserve some compensation for my highly valuable services. You can call it… insurance."

The dark wizard eyed him with surprise. "Is it just me or is he kind of evil?" he then asked, turning to the warrior for input.

"Uhhuh," the warrior Harry agreed, narrowing his eyes. "How about five galleons?"

"How about fifty?" the healer asked in return.

"You're _mad_. We're just going to go to Diagon Alley for little bit of shopping, pop into Knockturn Alley for a moment, maybe. Odds are that absolutely nothing will happen while we're here, so no way in Merlin's saggy man titties am I paying you fifty galleons for tagging along," the warrior snapped. "Ten galleons and not a knut over it."

"Well, I suppose for ten galleons I can tag along and maybe slap on a bandage if something does happen, but I'm afraid for such meagre amount I could only do first aid," the light Harry answered, shaking his head sadly. "But I suppose I could be generous enough to let some passer by know to let St. Mungos know that they could pick you up in case of any extensive damage." He smiled serenely at the narrowed look the warrior gave him and continued, "Now, for forty galleons, however, I'd be able to more extensive healing on the spot."

"While I could just as easily drag myself to a Floo or Apparate myself to St. Mungos without any payment involved. Forty galleons? I don't think so," the warrior scowled back.

The dark wizard watched their haggling from the side with a thoughtful expression. Maybe the light version of him wasn't such a pussy after all, he mused, as the other two settled on twenty eight galleons in the end. "I think you got robbed," he said, glancing at the warrior Harry amusedly.

The light Harry turned to him, and smiled as he put the galleons into his pocket. "Now, how much will _you_ be willing to pay?" he asked.

"What? But he just -"

"Paid for himself. I'm afraid I don't take group deals," the healer said, smiling even wider.

Little bit later, the three of them Flooed to Diagon Alley, the warrior Harry going first with a dagger in each hand, crossing over with a somersault. The dark Harry was still grumbling about why _he_ had to pay thirty two galleons when the warrior had gotten off with twenty eight, when he stumbled out of the fireplace with slightly less grace.

"You just need to practice your haggling, my friend," the warrior said with mocking consolation while hiding a smirk at the other's stumble. It had taken him some time to overcome the Floo Network's hate towards him, but apparently his counterpart had yet to manage it. "Give it a few years and you might be as good as me."

"To hell with haggling. I'm a dark lord, I don't _need_ haggling. I can kill haggling with a single thought," the dark Harry sighed as he collected himself and his indignantly sputtering pet devil from the floor. He glanced around to see that the few people that were sitting around in the restaurant were all staring at them. "What're you all looking at?" he snapped while lifting the little devil to his shoulder, his tone making them jump. "Never seen a dark lord before?"

"Well, you certainly have the subtlety of one," the light Harry said as he stepped out of the fireplace, calm and clean as ever. "What?" he asked, leaning lightly to his staff as his two sooth-covered duplicates stared at him with disbelief.

"How did you do that?" the warrior Harry demanded to know. "Do you know how long it took me to figure out how to Floo without stumbling like an idiot?"

"Are you calling me an idiot?" the dark Harry asked, frowning at him.

"No, I'm afraid do not know how long it took you to figure out that," the light Harry smirked. "And I'm sure you would just love to tell me. However, I believe we came here to shop, not to exchange style tips." He glanced to their side where the populace of the Leaky Cauldron were staring at them. "Good evening," he said politely, bowing his head slightly. Some of the wizards and witches were shocked enough to actually greet him back, and the rest nodded wordlessly.

"New here?" the innkeeper asked with voice maybe an octave too high. He cleared his throat. "Looking for a room?"

"No, we don't want a room," the dark Harry said, annoyed that the light Harry somehow snatched the attention and respect that ought to have been his. He was a dark lord, after all. "We're headed for the alleys. The entrance is in the back?"

"Yes, just through there -" the innkeeper trailed away as the dark Harry took hold of the warrior Harry and the light Harry and more or less dragged them towards the entrance, muttering to himself about cocky light wizards and people not knowing how to respect their betters.

"I think he's coming down from the money and destruction high," the warrior Harry mused to the light Harry over their angry counterpart's head. "I think he's gotten to the hangover part."

"Yes, I would say so. Pity I do not have a hangover cure at hand," the light Harry said amusedly and shook his head. "So, where are we heading to first? Because unless you've noticed," he glanced around the dark street, only lit by old fashioned street lamps and scarce few shops that still had lights on. "It seems that most of the establishments here are closed. I believe we've come too late for shopping."

"Hmm…" The dark Harry paused to look at his warrior counterpart, and after silent communication they nodded in agreement. "Let's find a pub," the dark wizard said.

"We… just came out of one," the light Harry said, motioning at the brick wall that was closing behind them and hiding Leaky Cauldron from sight.

"Leaky Cauldron is a good pub in the same way that Hogshead has clean glasses and Three Broomsticks holds excellent parties," the dark Harry said, waving the matter aside with his hand - a motion the devil mimicked much to the light Harry's amusement. "There's a good one in the back of Knockturn Alley - at least there is one in my world."

"I think I remember that. The Gutted Unicorn," the warrior Harry nodded. "I could go there."

"The Gutted Unicorn? Lovely," the light Harry sighed, and followed the other two set the pace and aimed for the corner of the alleys. While the dark and the warrior Harrys exchanged tales about the pub and tried to root out differences between their worlds, the light Harry looked around them as they went. The street seemed empty at the first sight, but with a little concentration he could sense several living magical signatures around them, hiding from plain sight in the corners and alcoves.

"Hmm…" he hummed, glancing around and then looking ahead. In his world Diagon Alley tended to be busy thorough the night and day, and visibly so. It was strange to see it so empty with people _hiding_.

"The weekly poker tournament, of course," the warrior Harry was answering to something the dark Harry had said. "There's four ways of getting new magical blades that ensures they will work later on - buying one from maker, stealing one, taking one that was 'left behind' or winning one. And usually the blades don't much care how they're won. Poker in my world tends to be more about blades than the money."

"Your world runs around those blades, does it? Give it a decade and they will change your galleons into little golden daggers," the dark Harry snorted. "I usually visited the Gutted Unicorn on more… professional reasons," he said thoughtfully. "It's the only place that doesn't much care if it caters a dark lord, so it's the better places to meet people who don't want to be known they're meeting me. I've made great many business deals there. One practically profitable one got me a tropical island, inhabited mostly by a matriarchal tribe of shamans that didn't much care for clothing…"

"Nice," the warrior nodded in admiration.

"I thought so, yes," the dark wizard nodded and looked around them.

Knockturn Alley was a little more popular, it seemed, than Diagon Alley. There were actually people _walking_ in plain sight along the streets, though there were several more occupants hiding like they had in Diagon Alley. As the trio walked deeper into the alley, the other people there gave them long, narrowed looks. Most of them were aimed at the light Harry, whose white robes seemed to shine in the darkness of the unlit alleyway.

"You're bad for going incognito," the dark Harry mused, glancing at his healer counterpart. "Ever considered a different shade of robes?"

"I'm bad for going incognito?" the healer asked with disbelief, glancing at the two others. The warrior with his many blades wasn't exactly being ignored, and the little white devil was getting the dark wizard some thoughtful looks. "Besides I wasn't aware that we were trying to go unnoticed," he added, shaking his head. With the entrance at the Cauldron, they probably had been more or less noticed already.

"It's the matter of appearances. You're supposed to attract attention by unconventional means, not by being in-your-face noticeable," the dark Harry said. "Dressing in brightly colours lacks subtlety."

"Whilst dressing in basilisk hide and prancing around with a devil on your shoulder is perfectly restrained, of course," the light Harry rolled his eyes and glanced at the warrior, who had suddenly changed directions and was instead heading towards one shop.

"I think he caught the sight of something shiny," the dark Harry said, and followed the warrior, the light Harry sighing after him.

"Weapon shop?" the dark wizard asked once he was close enough to see what the shop sold.

"More of an ornament shop, I think," the warrior snorted, looking over the window where several _household decorations_ had been put on display. Sword racks, mounted axes, shields…

"For those of very fine taste, I suppose," the dark wizard muttered, shaking his head as the warrior head inside to see the merchandise. After a moment, he followed him in.

On the street, the light Harry sighed and leaned to his staff to wait for them to come out again, doubting a weapon shop had anything interesting to offer to him. "Attention spans of squirrels, those two got," he muttered to himself.

Inside the shop, the warrior looked over the shelves and racks mounted on the walls, all full of beautiful sharp edged objects. Beside him, the dark Harry shook his head, not really understanding the fascination. Sure, he could use one or two magical blade himself for some extra security, but the longer he watched the more it seemed like his warrior counterpart had some sort of obsession towards collecting them.

"How many blades do you have, exactly?" he asked thoughtfully, as the warrior gave a look of consideration towards one, ancient looking battle hammer. It had a long handle and rather vicious looking spike on top of the head - not to mention about the claw itself.

"A warlock never tells," the warrior said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "One concealed blade might the difference between surviving and dying, so it's not exactly smart to tell how many you have."

The manager of the store, who had been half asleep at the counter, snapped awake at the sound of their chatter and frowned at them. His eyes widened as he saw the warrior and then he snorted. "We're not buying anything, so you might as well be on your way," he snapped, making a motion at the door. "And I don't care how many decades of history your little knifes have. Off you go."

The warrior blinked and the dark wizard beside him frowned. "How rude," he said.

"Well, this ain't second hand store," the man said, scoffing.

"Except for the many obviously second hand weapons on the wall, of course not," the warrior mused, and reached up to wrench the battle hammer he had been looking at off the wooden plate it had been mounted on. "I was _actually_ thinking of buying this," he said, testing the weight and giving it first two handed swing, and then trying it with one hand. "But I don't think I will now."

"Oh, you're a buyer! My apologies. I get all sort of riffraff's here, trying to get rid of their more embarrassing family treasures," the man said. "You like that hammer, hm? Old, goblin wrought weapon that is, eighteenth century, excellent quality… will make a great mantel piece, if you know what I mean," the man grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"No. This is dwarf made, closer to thirteenth century, and I'm not buying it," the warrior said, resting the hammer casually to his shoulder and looking around. "Now, what else is there in here…?"

The dark Harry watched as the warrior walked around the shop, examining weapons and selecting a small throwing knife, announcing that he wasn't buying it either much to the shopkeeper's confusion. It became a bit clearer when the warrior headed towards the door, battle hammer still leaning to his shoulder and flipping the throwing knife in his fingers.

"Hey, you can't just walk in here, and take whatever you choose!" the manager said, pulling out his wand.

"No, I think I can," the warrior answered and looked at the shopkeeper, smiling. "Why, do you have something against it?" he asked, taking a sturdier hold of his new hammer. "How about me test the strength of my arguments against yours, shall we?" he offered, and swung the hammer experimentally.

"You are the worse thief ever," the dark Harry muttered with admiration as his more warlike counterpart neatly crushed a curse the shopkeeper threw at him with the hammer.

Outside, the light Harry wondered whether or not he should go into the shop and see what the two lunatics were doing, when one of the people who had been eying him with distaste and suspicion stepped forward with two friends that were almost as big as he was. "Look at this, mates. A little Merlin wanna-be. Even has a staff," the man said, laughing as he tugged on the shoulder of the white robe. "Mighty fancy material this is too!"

"What's wrong, little boy, got lost on the way to a costume party?" the man next to the first one asked, as he and the other surrounded the light wizard, grinning menacingly. "We could show you the way, for a… little token of your appreciation, of course."

"Quite friendly of you, but I don't need such guidance," Harry said calmly, glancing at the man that had stepped behind him.

"Oh, no, I'm afraid we must insist," the first man said, grinning even wider. "It's out duty as good citizens after all. So why don't you just be a good buy and empty your pockets and we shall see how much of help we can offer, hmm?"

The healer gave him a rather unimpressed look and then smiled. "You know, those boils around your crotch aren't going to go away on their own, and if you leave them be you're going to lose more than just dignity," he said, before turning to the man at his left. "And I'm afraid it's not just heartburn, my good man, but do keep up with your habit. I promise the heartburn won't matter in the least soon," he added and finally glanced behind himself. "And you really should be taking closer look at what you eat. If this keeps up, whoever's poisoning you will succeed in about half a month."

"What did you say?" the lead man roared.

"Also, try and eat more vegetables," the healer agreed. "And some fruits too, if you can manage. You might keep you remaining teeth that way."

"Hey, what did ya say about me being poisoned?" the man behind the healer demanded. "What makes ya think that?"

"The discoloration of the whites of your eyes, and the darkening around your lips, also just bad hand care doesn't cover for six lost finger nails," Harry said solemnly, glancing the man over. "It's not normal to have blue eyeballs, my good man. Someone is feeding you Taxoal in small quantities - its magical herb found in southern America, perfectly good to eat if you blanch it twice in a row, but it dismantles your immune system when eaten without such preparations. In the end you will be weakened to the point where common cold will prove lethal."

"What, wait, I'm gonna die? I don't wanna die!"

"Now, now, you're not going to die if you stop eating the herb immediately and start taking certain potion that will boost your immune system and counter the effects of the Taxoal," Harry assured kindly. "Of course it is very unlike that you will find that certain potion because it is only known in two magical villages in Columbia and European potions makers rarely bother to try to learn such things. Why I doubt it's in any books around here either."

"Hey, hey, what about my heartburn? What is it?" the man at Harry's left side asked, horrified.

"Your stomach walls are disintegrating, and I suspect that your digestive system is for the lack of better word, rotting. Very soon, the walls of your stomach will completely give in and you will suffer a most painful death of, well. Having your guts split open on the inside you," the healer said calmly. "That is the effect of prolonged use of the illegal Bliss Brew mixed with alcohol."

"Oh, Merlin," the man said, clutching onto his stomach in horror.

"What about me, what about the… bumps?" the lead man asked, now looking worried.

"It's a sexually transmitted disease called Hag's Hearth," the light Harry said. "It's treatable, but left alone it will cover your pelvic area completely and the boils will continue to grow exponentially until, well, there will be little room for anything else. When the boils break, and they will break eventually, there will be severe inflammation and you will lose…" Harry glanced downwards with complete sympathy. "I'm sure you get the idea."

"How'd ya know all this?" the man asked clasping his hands protectively over his crotch.

"I'm a trained healer, of course, it is my job to notice these sort of things," the healer answered, and glanced between the three more or less docile wizards, who looked very uneasy with their fates now. "Well, gentlemen, I frankly don't know what to say. It so happens that I know the correct treatments to counter all your ailments," he said. "But I'm in a bit of a tight spot financially and I doubt I could afford the ingredients…"

"How much do you need?" the poisoned man asked eagerly. "I have money, and I can always get more if it's not enough! I don't wanna die!"

"In that case, I think we can come into an arrangement," the healer said, smiling.

Inside the weapon's shop, the warrior Harry laughed uproariously while he and the shopkeeper exchanged curses and blows that were enough to make the shop rattle and the weapons fall off the walls. The Dark Harry watched from the side, as the shopkeeper roared and snatched a battle axe from below his counter, and then rushed at the warrior what could only be described as leap attack. The two clashed in midair with their weapons, a hammer against an axe in brutal conflict.

"You're not bad, brat, but I have some blows in me yet!" the shopkeeper growled as they pushed against each other with their weapons pressed together, trying to push the other back. He did something clever with his axe and managed to push his opponent back. "And I have the advantage of age and experience!"

"Don't boast about age, you stupid old codger. It's the stamina that matters!" the warrior Harry said back and swung the hammer, making a rather impressive hole to the ground where the shopkeeper had been. Hurriedly, he wrenched the weapon out and chased after the older warlock with the hammer ready for a new swing. "Come back here!"

"What do you think?" the dark Harry, who was watching from the side with a shield around him protecting him from the falling weapons and debris, asked, turning to the white devil that was calling shrill cheers at the two fighters. "Do you think my blade-happy doppelganger has a chance?"

"Kreee!" the devil called, waving madly.

"I agree," the dark wizard mused, and turned to watch just in time to see his warlike counterpart cheerfully demolishing the shop counter behind which the shopkeeper had ran.

"Ahahaha! I haven't had this much fun since last month!" the warrior called, raising his hammer again and swinging down, to meet the ace with a loud clang and rain of sparks.

"What did you do last month?" the shopkeeper asked, straining to keep himself up under the pressure placed on the axe he was struggling to hold.

"Battle royal tournament with former schoolmates," the warrior answered, and jumped back as the shopkeeper tried to kick him. He landed neatly on the remaining half of the counter, swinging the hammer down again, grinning madly. "I haven't had a one-on-one fight in a long while."

"You always fight in groups?" the shopkeeper asked, parrying to the side before taking a wild swing at the younger warlock's feet - only to have him jump out of the way.

"No, I mean by using one weapon," the warrior answered and swung his hammer down mid air before chasing after the shopkeeper who neatly avoided the swing again.

"This sort of thing could make interesting day time entertainment," the dark Harry mused while watching the two exchange brutal blows, trying to beat each other with sheer strength. "I wonder if there is anyone among my army who actually knows how to fight physically. Hmm… adding a battle stadium to my castle could turn out interesting."

The white devil answered with a shrill cry and by throwing a piece of castaway wood at the two combatants.

"You're tiring, old man!" the warrior Harry called gleefully, and then had to avoid a particularly fast swing that managed to cut few strands of messy black hair.

"Shut up, you bastard. I ain't defeated yet!" the shopkeeper growled - and then cried out in pain. The warrior, in retaliation about the lost strands of hair, had sunken the claw of his hammer into his thigh. He wrenched it out before the shopkeeper could even curse and then stepped back to watch as his opponent dropped his axe in favour of cradling his wounded thigh.

"I guess that's it then," the warrior muttered, resting the hammer against his shoulder again and then crouching down. "You're not bad for a wand-user, old man," he said. "The next time though, go for the claymore," he said, nodding towards the remains of the counter, underneath which several weapons had spilled out. "It has some good aim charms in it, and it's relatively light - you won't tire as much. The axe is not bad, but it's heavy and clumsy and not really good in this space."

"Ah, don't lecture me, brat. I know that Horseman's Pick's weight, I knew the claymore would be no use," the shopkeeper growled while reaching for his wand.

"It's heavy yeah, but that makes it clumsy - besides, anytime I could've gotten it imbedded on something and not get it out," the warrior Harry said, shaking his head. "It's unwieldy and the swings tend to come out wide and wild. You could've easily avoided most of the attacks with a lighter weapon."

The shopkeeper snorted, making a bandaging charm around his leg. "Bugger off, you crazy bastard," he said. "I don't want your pity. Just take whatever you want and go."

"I'm not pitying you. I'm trying to figure out if it's worth it to leave you alive," the warrior said. "Or whether you could learn from your mistakes and be a bit better opponent the next time."

"The next time?" the shopkeeper asked, blanching. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Oh yes," the warrior said, grinning sharply. "There's going to be a next time."

Looking at them, the dark Harry shook his head. "Go figure," he murmured to his little devil, who sighed now that the violence was over. Leaving the two warlocks to their after battle bantering, he headed out of the shop where the air wasn't heavy with smell of broken wood and rusting metal. Once out, he looked around hoping that the weaker counterpart hadn't gotten himself into trouble, only to see the light Harry holding out his hand expectantly while three beaten looking thugs were emptying their pockets and wallets.

"Thank you, gentlemen," the healer said while pocketing the galleons and sickles. "I'll be writing to you on in few days about our arrangement, I promise.

"Yes, sir," said the biggest thug, bowing.

"Thank you, sir," said another nodding, before they hurried away, supporting each other and almost sobbing as they went.

The dark Harry shook his head in amazement and confusion as the light Harry calmly smoothed his hand over his robes and looked up to him expectantly. "I knew it, you're evil somehow," the dark wizard said, frowning and only got a slow blink in return. "What were you doing, bullying them for their money? I thought healers were above that sort of thing."

"Oh, it's for their own good," the light wizard said with a smile, and clasped his staff with both hands. "I suppose the violence there is over with?"

"Just about," the dark Harry answered, narrowing his eyes to him. "For their own good? What are you, Dumbledore now? Ever heard the saying of moral busy bodies?"

The light Harry didn't answer, just smiled.

The dark Harry shook his head again and looked up as the warrior Harry walked out of the ruined weapon's shop, happily whistling as he swung his bloodstained hammer. "That was invigorating," he said cheerfully and rested the hammer against his shoulder. "I could use a drink now. Shopping always makes me so thirsty."

"If your shopping is always like that, I don't doubt that," the dark wizard muttered, and clasped his two counterparts' shoulders. "Come on, you bastards. I'll buy you a drink."

xx

And chapter two. And like I said in the beginning, I added a scene to the first chapter with the Order and did some other minor changes, but overall the story itself hasn't changed. My apologies for possible grammar errors. Oh, and props to Xessive for knowing where idea for the box came from x)


	3. Morning after

**III chapter**

**Morning after**

The morning dawned beautiful here and somewhat rainy elsewhere.

In Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore woke up in cheerful mood, ready to face the day and already looking forward to his talk with the three young chosen ones who would help them put an end to the war. He was quite sure that the morning would prove out interesting and quite informative, and was quite looking forward to the chance of guiding the three soon-to-be-heroes in their quest for greater good.

In their home in Godric's Hollow, James and Lily Potter were looking over their daughter Nessa, who was happily babbling away about the day she had had with her best friend Liz in the previous evening. She didn't notice the odd looks they gave her, of if she did she didn't much care, as they had always been more or less weird anyway.

In nondescript Unplottable, heavily warded apartment in London where no one would ever think to look for him, Moody snored contently away, after having spent the evening securing himself and all his worldly possessions for whatever chaos would follow in the wake of Albus's summoned hellions. Great part of the night itself however, had been spent in a certain muggle establishment in Manchester where he had come out with just enough money for his new leg. After he converted it into galleons, of course.

In another apartment bit closer to Ebsom, Hestia Jones was jolted out of her restless, uneasy sleep and blearily looked around her messy bedroom. Her mouth tasted horrible, her head was bounding and she felt rather like dying - or throwing up, which ever came first. In the back of her mind, she had oddest urge to tell someone about something that had happened somewhere along the previous night, but the bounding of her head made it hard to remember. In the end, she only staggered up to visit the loo, get a muggle pain killer, and stagger back to bed.

The manager of Gutted Unicorn spent the morning scowling at his waitresses and bartenders, all of whom were either suffering a hangover or still drunk. The bar was a mess, even more so than before - three tables had been mashed, a window was broken, he was missing eight chairs somehow, the lamps had been busted and someone had made a bloody great graffiti on the left side wall of a grim reaper doing something rather wicked to a unicorn and signed with HPU4EVA. The only reason the manager wasn't publicly flaying his workers was the fact that somehow, they had gotten more profit in the previous night than they had in the _previous year_.

In Grimmauld place, one Harry Potter was filing a Floo order on a major potions store in Newcastle, while another Harry Potter was nursing a hangover in a cold shower, and the last was just waking up, wondering when he had ended up in there and why his minions hadn't brought him a hangover cure yet.

"I will destroy you!" the dark wizard growled, as he pulled the happily snoring little devil off his face. "It will be painful," he promised, waving at the creature that kept on sleeping even as he shook it by its tail. "I imagine rusty blades will be involved! Or forks! Sporks if I get in the mood! Perhaps even a pencil!"

The devil let out a nasal snore in answer.

"How do you destroy someone with a pencil?" a confused voice asked through the door.

"You sharpen it, of course, and then stick it into them," dark Harry snarled and threw useless devil away while sitting up. Sitting up and cursing his head and his alcohol tolerance and whoever had been stupid enough to let him drink Dwarf Brew again - and the gods and Dumbledore and Voldemort's rotting remains and Orion Black for good measure - he rubbed his bleary eyes and looked around himself. "Now where the hell am I?" he asked.

"In your house?" the voice asked, confused. "Also, what's a pencil?"

"It's a muggle quill, you moron. And this doesn't look at all like my bedroom. Where's the desk, the cabinet, the window, the balcony, the eight by eleven feet long minibar?" the dark Harry demanded to know, looking around in distaste. The room he was in was smelly and mouldy and small and he certainly didn't know it. "Where's my interactive statue of Voldemort which I use as target practice for quill throw and spell practice when ever I get bored?"

"Maybe you lost it?"

"You're no use at all," the dark wizard muttered and struggled up and to his feet, almost stumbling onto his comforter, and then onto the still sleeping devil and finally almost onto a - "Why do I have eight bar chairs in my room?" he asked, confused.

"I thought you needed them," the voice supplied unhelpfully.

Harry stared at them for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I suppose I'm eight benches closer to having my own pub," he muttered while absently reaching for his discarded robes and pulling them on. "Where did they come from?"

"The Gutted Unicorn," the voice said.

"Oh. I guess that's okay then," the dark wizard muttered. "The Unicorn has some good furniture."

"I think so too," the voice through the door agreed. "The tables are bit too low, though. I keep hitting my knees into them."

"Hmm, I suppose that could be a problem," Harry agreed, buttoning the robe with a wave of his hand, and then frowning with concentration, trying to think through his headache. "Am I talking about furniture with a disembodied voice?" he asked thoughtfully. "Why am I talking about furniture with a disembodied voice?"

"I have a body," the voice assured.

"Are you sure?" the dark wizard asked, frowning.

"Pretty sure, yeah."

After a slow blink and a slower through, Harry marched up to the door and pulled it open to see a burly, slightly dishevelled young man standing outside it in dirty grey robe. "Good morning," the man said, nodding to him.

"Morning," the dark wizard nodded, narrowing his eyes. The man looked somewhat familiar but for the life of him he couldn't remember where he had seen him. "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing outside my door?"

"Begging your pardon, sir. My name is Greg, and you hired me yesterday to be your minion," the man said, and then looked a little embarrassed. "I'm a bit new in this minion stuff though so I don't really know how to go on about. But I thought that minion ought to be standing behind the door in case they're needed or something."

The dark wizard nodded slowly. "That is very minion-like behaviour," he agreed, and then frowned with concentration, trying to remember hiring the man. As he did, he blearily remembered him and his two counterparts entering into the Gutted Unicorn and ordering Firewhiskey. He was pretty certain that it was the one with lots of the pointed objects that had started calling for the Dwarf Brew. The rest of it was blur of shattered wood, cards, some weird woman who had been nagging about something and… paint?

"Why did I hire you?" he asked finally, when he was pretty certain he couldn't remember the man.

"I was under the impression you liked me throwing your brother through a table," the man said, looking both embarrassed and proud. "The one with the hammer," he added and rubbed his side gingerly. "If you don't mind me saying this though, I hope you won't ask me to do that to your other brother, the one with the staff, after he was kind enough to put me back together."

"Put you back together?" the dark Harry asked, for a moment confused about the concept of brothers before his mind slowly converted the word into insane and pansy doppelgangers.

"After your other brother gutted me. I think he didn't like me throwing him through a table," the man nodded.

"Ah. So. I hired you after you threw the pointy-objected one through a table and the pansy healed you?" the dark Harry asked, just to be clear. The man, Greg, nodded in agreement, and after a moment of thought the dark wizard snorted. "Okay, that works. But, just to make sure you were paying attention, how much did I promise to pay you?" he asked, a little worried.

"Galleon a day," the man said.

"Really?" the dark wizard asked, a bit of disbelief in his tone. Now how in hell had he managed to get a minion for that price?

"You said so yourself," Greg nodded, before frowning. "You're not going to cut it, are you? I could use that money."

"No, no. Galleon works just fine. Perfectly even. Just peachly," Harry said, waving his hand. He needed to have someone record his doings when he was drunk - he obviously was better at shitting people when he was shitfaced. He shook his head, and looked over the man before him. "Okay, galleon-worthy minion of mine," he said. "I'm about to give your first task."

"I'm ready," Greg said, nodding and standing almost in attention.

"It is very important," the dark wizard warned.

"I will try my best," the minion said, his face taking a stern expression.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Absolutely, sir,"

"Okay then," the dark lord nodded, satisfied, and then covered his mouth with his hand. "Find me a loo, and quick. I'm about to throw up."

x

In the mean while, Hestia Jones had woken up again, her eyes dry and mouth tasting even fouler than before. She lay limply on her bed for a while, trying to figure out where the nagging feeling of being late from somewhere came from. It was like she really had to be somewhere giving a report to someone. But for the life of her and her disoriented mind, she couldn't figure out whom. After moment of hazy brained thinking, she turned and fell back to sleep.

x

In Grimmauld place the warrior had just neatly avoided seeing his darker counterpart spewing his guts out by getting out of the shower just in time with his knifes and daggers. Stumbling and leaning heavily to the walls, he made his way downstairs where he slammed his face against a table, pleading for a hangover potion from the resident healer.

"I would love to give you one," the light Harry said calmly while going over his list about things he had ordered and figuring that he'd need one more room and the basement if the house had one. "But it so happens that I do not have any. And without ingredients and potion making equipment, it is unlikely that I will make any in a while either."

"Then get them," the warrior groaned, lifting his head slightly and slamming his forehead down against the wood of the table, hoping it would wake his brain up.

Not bothering to mention that he was in the process of getting them as they spoke, the light Harry merely hummed. "Again I would just love to, but these things cost gold," he said, and after considering the list for a moment he realised he would either buy the set of three brass cauldrons or the silver cauldron, but he couldn't by both. "Gold, which I happen to have a very limited supply of."

"After all the blackmailing you did yesterday?" the warrior asked, raising his head and staring at the other with bleary eyes. "Don't think I didn't see you going around that pub and scaring half of the people there witless. You must've gotten more than fifty galleons from that old man alone."

"Hm," the light Harry only said, and ticked another thing off his list. He wouldn't need the self stirring cauldron rods just yet, best to get the basic gear first and think of mass manufacturing later.

"What did you say to those people to make them so eager to part with their gold anyhow?"

"Just the truth," the light wizard said. "The Knockturn Alley is a concentration of lot of people of meagre wealth and equally meagre health. And most of the people can't afford to get into proper examinations in St. Mungos, not to mention about paying for treatments," he added, and ticked off the self chopping knifes as well. "I, however, do not charge for examination. Just for the treatments."

"So… you did a health scam?" the warrior asked, frowning.

"Oh, I did not scam anyone," the light Harry scoffed. "I merely told them in no uncertain terms of what their state of health was and how it would progress on the long run."

The warrior frowned, trying to remember if he had been able to overhear any of these discussions between the light version of himself and the people of the bar. "What was wrong with the old man?" he asked after a moment.

"Early stage of Dragon Pox," the healer answered. "Perfectly harmless - and somewhat beneficial even - for a child. Deadly for the elderly."

"I thought Dragon Pox didn't have a cure. It's just one of those ailments that you get only once," the warrior said.

"No, the version that strikes the young is incurable, yes, and no one has ever had any reason to find a cure for it. Like said, it is beneficial, strengthening the immune system and sometimes even the patient's magic strengthens with it," the healer agreed. "However the version that ails the elderly, that one I do happen to have a cure for."

The warrior frowned, trying to wrap his mind around the conversation. "So, basically… you bullied the old man out of his money by promising to save his life?" he asked, confused. "How does that work?"

"I didn't _bully_ anyone," the healer said stiffly. "Now, excuse me, I need to file another Floo order," he said, standing up and heading for the fireplace.

The warrior stared after him frowning and then rested his chin against the table. "Ooh," he said after a moment, as his mind managed to reverse the earlier question. "That's how it works," he muttered and sighed. His mind wasn't working properly. Just how much had he drunk last night? "I want a hangover curee…" he moaned and slammed his forehead against the table again.

x

In the mean while at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was finishing his morning tea, and was almost done piling a hasty scrapbook of daily prophet articles about Voldemort and his people. It would, he was sure, be very useful in explaining the situation to the three Harry Potters. Absently he contemplated on whether or not to bring the three a box of lemon drops as a sort of welcoming present.

In her apartment near Ebsom, Hestia Jones had a dream of three almost identical wizards playing poker. There was a little white devil sitting on the shoulder of one of them. She shivered in her sleep.

x

The light Harry was done with his second Floo order, when the dark Harry staggered downstairs with the help of his new minion, who seemed to take his lord's hangover in a stride. "Anyone got a hangover cure? Or dozen? Please?" the dark wizard asked pitifully while falling to sit beside the warrior.

"You too?" the rougher Harry asked without lifting his head from the table and only wrapping his hands around it to muffle the sounds. Every noise louder than average felt like hammer to the head.

"Haven't had a hangover like this in years," the dark wizard agreed, slumping back in the chair and looking at his new minion. "Get me something to drink, would you?"

"Sure thing, boss," the man nodded, and as he headed for the kitchen he walked pass the light Harry, who absently bid him good morning.

"You know Greg?" the dark Harry asked.

"Who is Greg?" the warrior asked without lifting his head.

"My new minion," the dark wizard answered with pride and bit of embarrassment, as he still couldn't remember when or how he had hired the man. Then frowned, as he turned to the light Harry and noticed something disturbing. "Why don't you look like hell?"

"Because unlike you, I do not take part in drinking competitions - especially not with people who have exactly as high alcohol tolerance as I do," the healer answered calmly, looking over his list once more and then nodding with satisfaction. He looked up and smiled at the miserable state of his two counterparts. "Well, aren't you two looking chipper this morning?"

"I hate you. Get me a hangover cure," the dark Harry demanded.

"Where do you suppose I would get that?"

"You're a healer, you ought to have one somewhere," the dark wizard said, ands when faced with a neutral smile, he scowled. "You can make one. Go and make one. Right now. I demand it."

"Yeah. You've been ordering potions stuff all morning," the warrior mumbled, rising one hand to make the point without having to lift his head. "You ought to have at least one cauldron by now."

"Oh, I might," the light wizard mused. "But I don't have the ingredients," he added, and glanced up as Kreacher came in, scowling. "How is the work coming along, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher has cleared the basement," the house elf said, giving him a look of loathing. "Hated light master can now start with his stupid ingredient storage."

"You're turning the basement into ingredient storage?" the dark Harry asked, scowling at the light Harry. "You do have ingredients, don't you? Go make me a potion or I'll hex you."

"Hex me, and I will never make the potion. And no, I do not have any ingredients so far," the light Harry said, resting his elbows lightly on the table and crossing his fingers amongst each other. "All I have been doing so far is ordering equipment for the laboratory and shelves for the storage. However, before I can get either of them functional, there needs to be some renovations done around here. The basement is cool, but not in any way suitable for ingredient storage, and the laboratory needs the usual battery of preparations before it is safe for potioneering."

The dark Harry eyed him in incomprehension for a moment while the warrior Harry groaned. "So, after you're done with that, then you'll make me a hangover cure?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, sure," the light Harry nodded smiling. "I'd be happy to."

"Then go and make them. Go and renovate. Renovate like you've never renovated before," the dark Harry said, with maybe less amount of drama than the words would've deserved. He just didn't feel like aiming for hundred percent perfect theatrics right then.

"I would love to, but there is a small problem with that," the light Harry said, still smiling even as the warrior Harry groaned again. "I'm afraid that the renovation would take a little bit more money than I currently possess."

"But you have money. You've been blackmailing people like mad!"

"Sadly, all that money went into my potion's equipment," the healer said apologetically. "It will take some time before I get enough for the renovations."

"Why didn't you do the renovations _before_ starting to order the potions stuff?" the dark wizard asked with disbelief and misery.

"Because I wanted to be certain I could get the right equipment. They might not be available after I've completed the renovations, after all," the healer said sensibly. "Besides, I couldn't _possibly_ start making lasting changes to the Grimmauld place without your express permission. It is your house after all, I'm here only as a guest," he added, smiling rather fiendishly.

The dark Harry stared wt him with disbelief, and then glanced up as his minion returned with the water glass. "What took you so long?" he asked miserably as he reached for the glass.

"Sorry, boss. There's something wrong with the pipes - the water came out brown," the man answered. "And it took some time before I managed Aquamenti."

"Brown?" the dark wizard asked.

"Old house. Empty for a long while. No-one ever fixed it properly. Rusty pipes," the warrior Harry answered and banged his head against the table once more, before looking up and at the light Harry. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Dumbledore's heart on a platter? _Voldemort's_ heart on a platter? My first born? What?"

"If you have one, I could consider it, but I could settle for money this time," the light wizard said, smiling wider. "Renovations are expensive business, after all. The quicker I get it done, the quicker I can have my potions laboratory up and running and the quicker I can get all sort of useful cures done."

The dark and warrior Harrys sighed and glanced at each other, knowing that at this rate the money they had gotten from the safe would run out in no time at all. "We'll split the price. How much do you want?" the warrior asked.

"Five hundred galleons will do," the light wizard said, looking insufferably satisfied with himself. "It will get me started nicely."

"Five hundred galleons for a hangover cure? You're kidding me," the dark wizard moaned.

"For that, yes. And other potions you might need thorough our stay in this world," the light wizard agreed and tsked when the two eyed him with disbelief. "Come on, gentlemen. It only stings once. Then you will have unlimited supply of hangover potions from here on, I promise."

"I hate you," the dark wizard sighed while pulling out his money satchel - which looked remarkably lighter than it had been in the previous night. "Here. I'll pay half of it, he can pay the other half," he said, nudging the warrior with his elbow as he handed the satchel over to the evilest light wizard he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. "How long will it take for you to make the cure?"

"Hmm," the light wizard mused, and after counting the money from both the dark wizard's and the warlock's purses, he smiled and sat up. "I'll be right back."

"I hate that guy, I really do," the dark wizard groaned, letting his head hang back as the warrior grumbled an agreement.

Few minutes later, the healer returned with two steaming cups of tea, and handed them over to them. "Here you go," he said, and headed towards the fireplace again, humming contently to himself while pondering on how to design the laboratory and ingredient storage.

"What the hell," the dark wizard muttered and drank the tea, almost spewing it out when he caught the taste. Instead he quickly drank the whole cup, ignoring the burned tongue he got in the process. "What the fuck, how the hell did he make it so quick?" he asked once he was done, sighing with relief as the hangover cure immediately stared to take effect.

"Begging your pardon, boss, but there's a bag of dried hangover potion in the kitchen," his minion said. "You know, the tea version where you put a spoonful on bottom of a cup and pour hot water in? It's just beside the stove, next to the kettle."

"You fucker!" the dark wizard growled after the light wizard while the warrior eagerly reached for his own cup. "Bring me back my money!"

"I did make the cure for you; I poured the water and everything! It's your own fault, as you didn't ask about whether or not the Order left any behind!" the light wizard called back cheerfully even as he threw Floo powder to the cold fireplace to start to bargain with the construction workers.

"You got to admit," the warrior chuckled ruefully once he was done drinking. "He's pretty good."

"Dainty unicorn sucking wanker," the dark wizard muttered and stood up. "Come on, minion Greg. Let's go scam people for their moneys. We shall not be outdone by that bastard!"

"How are you going to scam people? You can't exactly offer to heal their ailments like he does," the warrior said, a little amused.

"I'll figure a way!"

"Alrighty then. Have fun," the warrior waved his hand. "See that he doesn't get into trouble, Goyle."

"Will do, sir," the minion said and hurried after his lord.

Left alone in the kitchen, the warrior Harry mused about what to do for a moment. With the light Harry starting his business of potioneering and prosthetic making and who knew what else, and dark Harry trying to scam people of their money with his new loyal minion, he felt wholly unaccomplished in comparison. Pulling out a throwing dart and tapping it against the tea cup to fill it with water, he mused about what he should do in the mean while. And if he didn't like something, it was being outdone by someone. Even if that someone was himself.

"I wonder what Moody is doing," he mused, sipping his water. "Maybe I should visit him."

x

Meanwhile, Hestia Jones had woken up for once and for all, and as she sat up in shock, remembering the scene she had so carefully pressed into her memory in the previous night, she knew she had to inform professor Dumbledore as soon as possible. The people he had summoned to save them were not saviours at all!

Unfortunately, headmaster Dumbledore had just left Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was heading for the Hogsmeade in order to have a chat with some of the patrons of the Three Broomsticks, before he would head to London. He ended enjoying couple of madam Rosmerta's best pastries and another cup of tea, before he headed outside so that he could Disapparate to London for his very important meeting with the three chosen ones.

It was a wonderful day to be a light wizard, he mused and Apparated to London, not many feet away from the front door of Grimmauld place. With a confident smile, he stepped around the ruined iron safe and knocked the door.

And then, after a minute, knocked again.

And again, after five more minutes.

Twenty minutes and eight knocks later, the door was wrung open by very irritate young man in overalls. "What?" one of the Harry Potters asked with a paint stain on his cheek and a hammer in one hand. "I'm busy, what do you want?"

"Uh," was Dumbledore's most dignified answer, as he listened to the noise of hammers and saws and drilling charms echoing through the house. "Apparently I have come in a rather bad time," he mused with confusion. It sounded like construction. But surely that couldn't be. The three boys had only been in the mansion for one night, surely they couldn't have started doing any changes to the house? "May I ask, what are you doing?"

"I am wasting precious time. What do you want?" the Harry in front of him asked, and then glanced back as someone let out a howl of fear. "What is it now?" he asked with annoyance and marched away from the door. Thankfully, he left the door ajar and Dumbledore could follow him inside to see…

He for a moment wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. There was a wizard in worker's leather robes running around the front hall with a white-something covering his face, screaming, "It's a headcrab! Get it off, getitoff!" while several other construction wizards looked from the side, looking rather fearful and carefully stepping back when the man ran too close to them.

"Oh for the sake of Merlin's ingrown toenails!" Harry Potter growled and pulled the insanely cackling white devil off the man's face. "Where is that ponce, why did he leave this thing here? Kreacher!" he growled, and with a crack the deranged house elf of the mansion appeared. "Get me a cage would you? And bottle of whiskey, if you can find it. And you four, back to work, I am not paying you to stand around! Chop chop, time's a-wasting!"

After shooing the more or less terrified construction wizards back to the basement, young wizard turned back to Dumbledore, apparently not much caring that he had a near feral little devil trying to chew through his gloves. "Now, what do you want?" the young wizard demanded to know. "I am very busy, I am behind schedule, I have negative disposition towards constructions, and you are a distraction I don't care for right now, so you better tell me right now what you want or I'll appoint you as the de facto caretaker of this thing!"

Albus hurriedly jumped back as the younger wizard almost thrust the squirming devil at his face. He coughed awkwardly and then smiled. "Might, uh… might the healer Harry be around?" he asked carefully, as he didn't thing he could deal with this warrior without a gentler buffer in between.

"_I am the healer_!" the young man almost roared, ignoring how Albus jumped as he took the cage Kreacher had brought, and shoved the devil inside it. After shoving an uncorked bottle of Odgen's finest Firewhiskey right after it, he hung the cage into a clothes rack, and turned back to Dumbledore. "Now," he said in calm tone that rather sounded like great predator growling under its breath. "Again. Was there something you wanted _headmaster_?"

"A-are the other two here?" Albus asked nervously, looking between the deranged devil, the deranged house elf, and the absolutely bat shit insane healer.

"No, they are unfortunately out at the moment. Would you like for me to take a note for them? _Just let me get my parchment and quill_," the healer hissed through his teeth, but didn't make a move to actually get anything.

"M-maybe I should come back l-later?" Albus offered carefully, already edging towards the door.

"Yes, maybe you should. Wonderful idea. I'll tell the two lunatics you stopped by," the healer promised, and the moment his eyes shifted towards the door leading to the basement, Albus listened to his more primitive survival instincts and ran like hell.

x

In impeccably arranged street of Privet Drive, an impeccably dressed young gentleman stood from impeccably clean car. His not so impeccable assistant followed him a bit confusedly as he marched up to the front door and rang the door bell before tugging at the collar of his brand new suit and making sure that his tie was straight.

"Begging your pardon, boss, but do I really have to wear this?" Greg asked awkwardly while tugging at the collar of his suit. In the last hour, his new lord had run him through three different beauty salons and very fancy muggle clothes store. Greg hadn't felt this clean or neat in years, not since his father had gotten arrested and their family had fallen from grace. He rather liked the haircut, even though they had never paid for it, or anything else for that matter. But he still wasn't so sure about the muggle aspect of it all. Pants were so very constricting.

"Yes. Yes you do," Harry Potter answered, glancing at the taller, heavier man and sighing. "Your tie is all wrong again. You need to stop tugging your collar," he murmured while reaching out to straighten it. "There. All better. Now stop touching it."

Greg sighed. "But it's hard to breathe."

"No complaining," the dark wizard said strictly, and then looked ahead with a charming smile as a thin, long faced muggle opened the door. "Hello, Mrs. Dursley?" he asked, as the woman looked between them with worried expression. "My name is Garry Porter, and this is my friend Greg. Might your husband be home?"

"Ah, Vernon? No, he is at work right now," the woman said, frowning. "W-what is this about? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not. Everything is just fine," Harry assured while Greg frowned, wondering if he had heard his boss's name wrong when they had been introduced in the bar. "But this does concern your husband in the most gave manner. I do believe it is best we come in."

"Ah. Yes, of course. Please do," the woman said, and opened the door wider so that they could enter. "Is Vernon in trouble?" she asked worriedly, as she closed the door.

"No, it's nothing like that at all. No, I believe he's about to come to a bit of fortune, in fact," Harry assured, smiling at the woman while following her to the dining hall. "There is a bit of an issue with the company he works in, and I believe your husband could be very helpful in solving this issue - for which he will be very well rewarded. Mrs. Dursley, do you think you could call your husband and see if he has a period he could take off, perhaps for lunch? This is very important."

"Well, I don't know -"

"It will be worth his while, I promise," Harry assured. "Very well worth his while," he added, when the woman hesitated.

"Alright then. If you could give me a moment," the woman murmured and headed for the hall to make the call.

"Boss?" Greg asked once they were alone at the dining table and Harry could look around himself with unguarded distaste. "I'm confused. What are we doing here?"

"Handing out unfair judgement on people who have no doubt done nothing to me in this world, but who offered me one a very unpleasant summer in mine," the dark lord murmured, thinking back to the two miserable months between his first and second year at Hogwarts when Dumbledore had honestly thought he had Harry under his control and had in his great wisdom sent him to his _very gentle and loving_ relatives. He threw a glare towards the hall and the blasted cupboard. Even the _dungeon_ had been comfortable in comparison. Not to mention about having much better company.

"And hopefully getting some profit out of it as well," the dark wizard added, when his minion continued to look confused.

"Well… alright then," Greg said, and fell silent as the horsefaced woman returned to the kitchen.

"Vernon will be home soon," she said, smiling a stiff smile. "Perhaps you would like something to drink in the mean while, tea perhaps?"

"That would be lovely," Harry said, and commented absently on the ugly china-vase in the corner of the living room while waiting for Vernon to come home. The compliments had unfortunately a very positive effect on Petunia, who started going about how she had gotten the vase very cheap, and how her neighbours always admired it, and her successful son, and Vernon's family car.

By the time Vernon did arrive, the dark wizard was contemplating on very painful ways to kill a person and figuring which one of them was the quietest way of ending the torture that was a pleasant conversation over tea with Petunia Dursley. The young dark lord was almost relieved to be saved by the man, but hid it well when Vernon marched up to him, demanding an introduction.

"Mr. Dursley. My name is Garry Porter - and this is my very good friend Greg. Don't mind him if he doesn't talk much, he's the quiet sort," he said, and continued before the most than little over weight man could say anything. "Now, my business here is very serious matter indeed. It involves the company you work with," he said, frowning seriously and glancing at Petunia who was eagerly listening from the side. "Perhaps your wife would like to take a walk outside for a moment?"

"What ever I hear, Petunia can hear as well," Vernon said, looking suspicious. "Now what is this about?" he demanded to know.

"Well… shall we sit down?" the dark wizard said, and they did. "Well, Mr. Dursley. There is a very serious issue with the company," he started, cursing himself for not being able to remember what the name of the company was. "There have been some issues with money -"

"What sort of issues?" Vernon asked, narrowing his eyes. "I have kept my books clean, so that you know, not a single mark in my record!"

"I don't doubt that, Mr. Dursley, that is why we came to you," the dark wizard was quick to assure. "Because your record is so clean we would like to… recruit your help to get to the bottom of this thing. The CEO of the company -"

"Old man Grunnings?" Vernon asked, frowning. "What about him?"

"Well, there have been some reports about him," the dark wizard said, now starting to get a bit annoyed with the interruptions. "Some issues with his, uh, books, sort of speak, and -"

"Now listen here. Old man Grunnings is clean as a whistle, and a good man to boot," Vernon started to say. "I don't think what you think you're on about, but let me tell you, I wasn't born yesterday, I wasn't!"

The dark wizard stared at him with surprise. "Wha?"

"Don't think I don't know you are trying to worm your way in to steal the secrets of the Mark 49 Grunnings drill!" the man stood up, looking furious. "Now, I would like you and your associate to kindly leave the house, before I call the bobbies on you!"

The dark wizard blinked slowly, "Wha?" he asked again, a bit overcome by the fact that his epic plan had apparently ran head long into a barbed brick wall, with spikes on it.

"Get out, you blood suckers! I will have nothing to do with you! And don't think I won't report you to the authorities I've half a mind to keep you here so that they can fetch you right up for industrial espionage!"

He stopped short when Harry sighed, pulled out his wand and cast a silent Imperio on both him and his wife. As silence fell to the room, he turned to Greg who was looking at the two blank faced Muggles confusedly. "Greg, why didn't you tell me scamming people is this hard?" the dark wizard asked.

"I… didn't know, boss. I'm sorry," the minion offered confusedly.

"Tsk!" the dark wizard muttered, folding his arms and shaking his head. "You'd think it would be easy, you know?" he said and waved at the two Muggles. "I mean, here we have two of the stupidest, slowest, most dim witted Muggles you'll ever meet. It should be a chinch scamming them. Just suggest a job, offer them money for it, but only after the job is done, and before that we need bit of a base funding to get started, maybe you could help with that… you know? It shouldn't be that hard!"

Shaking his head, he turned to blank faced Vernon Dursley and his wife. "You two, go and empty all your bank accounts and bring the cash to me," he demanded, and watched as they walked away. "Being a crook is hard," he mused with a heartfelt sigh and a shake of his head as he watched the two Muggles walk away.

"Yes, boss," his minion agreed, still wondering what just had happened.

They sat in silence for a moment before the dark lord shook his head again. "You want some tea?" he asked.

Greg considered it and then nodded. "Yeah, okay."

x

"Headmaster, thank god I caught you in time! I've been trying to contact you for an hour now!" Hestia Jones sighed as she saw that the headmaster was in his office. "I have something very urgent to tell you, sir! He's trying to take over the world!"

"Oh, dear Hestia, we already knew that," the headmaster, who had regained his balance with the power of lemon drops and was feeling a bit more like human and lest like a rabbit that had escaped a predator barely with his tail intact. "Do come through, my dear girl. Let's have a tea and discuss this…"

"No, I don't mean you know who, I mean the one, you summoned him yesterday!" the woman said, almost stumbling as she came though the fireplace. "I saw them, sir, in the Gutted Unicorn! They drank like sieves, but that's beside the point! I heard them talking, headmaster, it was horrible. He is really trying to take over the world, sir, you got to believe me!"

"Dear girl, I'm sure he is just having a bad day," the headmaster said a bit uneasily at the memory of the healer. But surely it was just one time thing; after all, he was a _healer_. There wasn't a wizard more rooted in light than a healer. And every one had bad days after all; it wasn't fair to judge him by what he was like on one separate day. "People get temperamental when they are tired, and I am sure that being around with people exactly like him isn't doing him any favours give it a day, and I'm sure he'll calm down."

"No, sir I don't think he will! You didn't hear him! The horrors he spoke of - headmaster, I can barely think of it," the woman shuddered at the memory. "He is evil, truly evil. I doubt anyone outside You-Know-Who's ranks has ever witnessed that level of evil."

"Now, now, my dear lady, I'm sure you are over reacting," the headmaster said, calming down himself now that he had a good explanation for the healer's drastic behaviour. "I'm sure it was just a temper tantrum, nothing more."

"I really don't think so, sir. The things he said, sir, I don't think they were just spoken out anger, they were evil, calculated plans," she assured, near tears now. "Headmaster, we must do something about it, soon, before it's too late."

"My dear, do calm down, I'm sure it's not so bad…"

"Yes, sir, yes it is!" the woman almost shrieked in despair. "The shoulder devil is trying to take over the world!"

A short pause followed, before the old wizard cleared his throat. "Perhaps you're overly stressed, my deal girl. Yes, I think its best you take few days off and try and get some rest," the headmaster said slowly. "I believe we can do without your contribution for few days. You try and… gather your strength, Hestia. Come back when you feel more fit for… work."

The woman almost broke out to tears as she was escorted towards the fireplace. Unbeknownst to all, Hestia Jones was a Daemonmouth, and had the mysterious ability to talk to small demons, imps and dust devils - fact which no one would believe in quite a while.

x

Meanwhile, the warrior Harry had gotten lost in London in his search for Moody's place, having realised too late that he had no idea where the old Auror lived. But that was okay, as he had found himself some entertainment. The thugs that had been in process of mugging an old man didn't really agree with the sentiment, though.

xx

Oddly enough, despite most being liking Light Harry and Warrior Harry the most, I myself am particular towards Dark Harry. He's evil and selfish and arrogant and greedy and kind of incompetent. The classic Harry Potter universe's dark wizard. Though maybe he's more bunny-ears-_evil_-bunny-ears than evil...

My apologies for possible grammar errors and such.


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